Bats of a Leather
by Xrai
Summary: Ficlets and drabbles of various themes concerning the Dark Knight and other villains/heroes of Gotham.
1. Kiss, Kiss

**Disclaimer: The Batman and all related works belong to DC Comics and to Warner Bros.**

** Yes, the title is weird. It's based on the saying 'Birds of a feather, flock together'. These are all drabbles about the Batman/Bruce Wayne and Co. hence the "Bats" and the "leather" (wings). Hope that cleared things up.**

Timeline: Before Batman Begins  
POV: Bruce Wayne (around the time when he and Rachel are still in their teens)

The rating may go up in further chapters due to language. And it may get somewhat parody-ish at times.

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**Kiss, Kiss**

He's too nervous to say it out loud. (Not that he needs to. She always seems to _know_.)

Especially when she's looking at him _that_ way. Like she can see into his head and read the thoughts in there.

Not that he's capable of thinking much, for the moment.

She accepts the flowers that he wordlessly hands her with a small, knowing smile. And the chocolates.

"Thank you, Bruce. Happy Valentine's Day."

"Rachel…"

"Hmm?"

"I-I…"

Words cannot say this.

He leans forward, she leans forward and he kisses her, he kisses her, he kisses her, little by little by little.

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Um, for this drabble, I stole the last line "he kisses her… by little" from Gregory Maguire's absolutely brilliant book "Wicked". I only changed the tenses. So, yeah, _that_ doesn't belong to me either.

Hope you liked that. More drabbles will be coming up soon.


	2. In Plain Sight

**Disclaimer: The usual blah. Batman doesn't belong to me (sob).**

Timeline: Anytime after Batman Begins.  
POV: Those socialite girls.

Not as good as the previous one, but please read...

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**In Plain Sight**

The evidence is in plain sight. They just can't (or don't want to) see it.

They are exasperated:  
"You fell down the stairs _again_?"

Amused:  
"Ach, you are zo clumzy, Brucie."

Annoyed:  
"_Another_ car collision? Are you trying to break some record?"

Angry:  
"What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Analytical:  
"Tell me, Bruce, is something wrong?"

And sometimes a bit too close to the mark:  
"Do you get into fights or something?"

But they never manage to guess right (though it's _so_ damn obvious). They think he's just plain clumsy (and dumb).

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Next drabble will hopefully be up tomorrow, if not, then by Sunday. Have a nice weekend!


	3. Birthday

**Disclaimer: The usual blah. Batman doesn't belong to me (sob).**

Timeline: Anytime after Batman Begins  
POV: Alfred's

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**Birthday**

The kitchen is in chaos. It looks like a bakery exploded.

"Uh, morning, Alfred."

A sack of flour has fallen; white dusts the floor, the table, the shelves and Master Wayne.

(Bruce grins sheepishly.)

The butter must have been sitting there for hours, pathetically soft, it threads away in a thin oily line…

"Happy Birthday."

…mingling with the syrup, which from the table _dripdripdrip_s onto the (ex-clean) floor.

"I wanted to make breakfast. Pancakes."

Ah, so that is that _thing_ in the pan there.

"It is much harder than it looks in the book."

And the Batman finally accepts defeat.

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Next update: Unknown, sometime next week. Have a nice weekend.


	4. Song

Sorry for the late update. Been very busy.

Inspired by the piano in Batman Begins. I wondered why it was there, since Bruce doesn't strike me as a piano-playing kind of person (except maybe in an angsty, Captain Nemo-ish way), so I assumed it was his mother's.

Usual disclaimers apply. See first chapter.

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**Song**

She places his much smaller hand on the ivory keys, helps him splay his fingers so that he can reach all five and covers it with her own more experienced one.

"No lullaby, Mom. Can we play a march?"

"It's far too early for that, Bruce."

_Do re mi fa so _

"I'll teach you a simple tune."

***

His fingers stray thoughtlessly across the keys. Maybe, inside, he's hoping to find echoes of her.

Like a simple tune.

_Do you see a bright star, in the sky, in the sky? Do you see a bright star, shining just for you?_

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When she says it's too early to play the march, she means that he hasn't fully mastered playing with both hands. The tune can be played with one hand only.


	5. Legacy

Now it's his daddy's turn.

Usual disclaimers apply. See first chapter.

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_The apple has fallen far from the tree, Mr. Wayne. _–One of Bruce Wayne's guests at his birthday, Batman Begins

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**Legacy (or Under his Shadow)**

He knows he is _nothing_ like his father.

He doesn't need _them_ to tell him; their snide remarks, their whisperings, their disapproving glances, their _tut-tut_s, their rueful shakes of their heads.

(He _is_ nothing like his father, no matter how hard he once tried to be. But that is an old failure, something he has long come to terms with.)

Though it would be nice if they would stop calling him _useless_.

Him: Generous, but wasteful. A playboy. Dumb. (And, yes, useless.)

(Hardworking. Friendly. Kind. Approachable. _That _was Thomas.)

But_ he_ is Bruce and they are: Two. _Completely_. Different. People.

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Thanks for reading and have a nice day.


	6. Excuses

Excuses. Because Bruce Wayne always needs 'em. So do I. Sorry for the late update; life has been very busy of late.

For disclaimer, see previous chapters.

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**Excuses**

"So I was drunk, fell down the stairs and broke my arm?"

"That's right, Master Wayne."

"Doesn't that sound a bit strange?"

"_You_ burnt down Wayne Manor, sir."

"Oh, yeah."

...

"This is ridiculous. It shouldn't have happened."

"Even the Batman makes mistakes, Sir."

"A broken arm isn't _just_ a mistake."

"If you say so, Sir. I believe that this is the chance for you to take things a bit easier."

"You mean I should stop being the Batman."

"For a few weeks. Until your arm heals."

"They'll make the connection."

"They won't. Criminals don't give a damn about Bruce Wayne."


	7. Tired

Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. I love you guys (and gals)! XD

Disclaimer: Self explanatory.

Read and enjoy.

This is the scene in 'The Dark Knight' when... well, read and guess.

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**Tired**

Is it necessary for him to be here? (But he'd arranged it. Now _why _had he done that?).

The chair is comfortable. _Very_ comfortable. In fact, it feels a million times cosier than his bed at the penthouse. Maybe he could ask Fox if he could take it back with him after the meeting.

"We value mumble and mumble, mumble, mumble. In order to mumble, mumble, mumble before mumble, mumble and so it mumble, mumble."

The voices wash over him like a murmuring river.

"Thank you Mr Lau, we mumble, mumble, mumble."

Almost… soothing.

"In China mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble_mumblemumblemumblemumbellllll..._

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ZZZZ... (wakes up) Huh? Oh, thanks for reading, reviews and criticism are welcome. Have a nice day!


	8. Child's Play

For someone who doesn't like romance, I find myself really enjoying writing Bruce/Rachel. Or pre-Bruce/Rachel. Enjoy!

Usual disclaimers apply.

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**Child's Play**

"It's much too big."

"Then roll up the sleeves, silly. And comb your hair."

He throws down the comb. "I don't want to."

"Bru-uce!"

"Okay, okay."

He tugs angrily at the tie she'd made him wear, muttering, "This is stupid,"

Rachel pouts. "Well, I _had_ to play LEGO with you yesterday, so now it is your turn to play what _I_ want."

"Playing 'house' is for _girls_," he mumbles under his breath, glaring at the doll, who stares innocently back at him with glassy, baby blue eyes. Louder he says, "_Fine_. But do I _reeeaaallly_ have to be your husband?"

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Hope you liked that. Have a nice day!


	9. Rain

I've just received pretty good results in an important public examination, so to celebrate: AN UPDATE!!!

To everybody who has reviewed (and/or added these drabbles to their faves/alerts) so far: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!! I love you guys! (Hugs)

Usual disclaimers apply.

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**Rain**

It doesn't rain in Gotham, it pours. And on such days, everyone knows better than to step out into the city's drowned streets.

***

"Anything yet, Master Wayne?"

"No, nothing."

"Well, nobody right in their mind would be out in this deluge."

"Thank you for the hint, Alfred. But it's not the sane that I am worried about."

"I don't think those out of their minds would be up and about either. With the exception of you, of course."

***

"It's about time you came back."

"Sorry, Alfred, I –ah –ah –"

"Master Wayne?"

"Ah –ah –"

"Is everything–"

"Ah –CHOO!!"

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Hope that was okay. More updates will be up this weekend.

I don't really want to beg, but if you've got the time, please check out my first 'Batman Begins/Dark Knight' fanfic with the Joker in it, called 'Murder as a Form of Art'. It's been getting sadly little traffic (sob). Please tell me what you think of it. It can be acessed through my profile page.

Thanks a million!

Have a nice day!


	10. Womanizer

Inspired by a scene in BATMAN: GOTHAM KNIGHT, where Bruce turns down an invitation to play poker due to 'business' (aka beating up baddies) and then this fella asks, "Blonde, or brunette?". God, if I had been Bruce, I would have puched him. For reasons, see below.

Usual disclaimers apply.

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**Womanizer**

It annoys me how every "I have some business to attend to" or "I have an appointment for this evening" will always get translated into "I'm seeing a hot girl tonight and we'll probably end up getting drunk and having sex and I'll burn down my house again because I'm a clumsy, spoiled, silly little brat.

I suppose they assume that simply watching television is too un-Wayne-ish. They probably can't imagine _someone like me_ playing chess with Alfred. They certainly never think of me dressing up as a bat to fight crime.

Of course not.

I'm _Bruce Wayne_, aren't I?

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Thanks for reading.


	11. Inside and Outside

**Disclaimer: You know it. The usual blah.**

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**Inside and Outside**

Outside, the sun is shining, all bright and sunny. Inside, the curtains are drawn; they cast cool, dim shadows.

Outside, everyone is awake and talks and chatters, everyone watches the news and shakes their heads when "_the Batman is the prime suspect for the two murders committed this week"_. Inside, the Batman tiredly removes his armour and Bruce Wayne drags his feet up the stairs and falls into bed without removing his boots.

Outside, everyone daydreams of coffee and weekends and the end of the day.

Inside, Gotham's Dark Knight dreams of laughter, his parents, a Glasgow grin. And Rachel.

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As usual, couldn't resist throwing Rachel into the mix. Poor Brucie.

Thanks for reading and have a nice day.

PS. I'm sure you've noticed that I only update during weekends. Unfortunately next weekend, I won't be anywhere within reach of a PC (and even if I were, I would be too paranoid to use it). So if I've got time, I'll try squeeze in a chapter or two during the next few days...  
Sorry.


	12. Fear

There will be no updates until Sunday night. I'm going for a seminar.

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em (sadly).

From Rachel's POV. Both are... in their teens.

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**Fear**

I hold it out to him but he jerks back, as though I've just pulled a gun on him.

"It's just a bat, Bruce."

"Take it away, Rachel. Let it go."

"It's nothing to be afraid of. Just try and touch it. It's like a mouse. With wings."

His hands clench and unclench convulsively, and for one moment I'm not sure if he's going to reach out for it or if he's going to hit me.

"No."

Alfred says that it's not really the bat that he's afraid of but his own guilt. The bat just reminds him of it.

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Thanks for reading. Have a nice day!


	13. Dog Eat Dog World

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'em and I'm making no money from this.**

Now for something _completely_ different:

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**Dog Eat Dog World**

I like smelly-man. He nice to me. Not like other many man. They hit me with stick. Hurts. I bite them and they hit me more. Mate bite much-meat-man. Man hit her. Now she don't move. Smell bad-bad-bad.

Smelly-man don't hit me. Pet me. Rub my head. Give me eat much meat. Taste good. Smell like man.

Bad-man come hurt my smelly-man. I bite him but he hard. My teeth hurt. Cannot bite. His face not hard. I jump, try bite. He fall down. I keep try bite.

Now smelly-man hit bad-man with metal-smell-stick. Hit me too. Why?

I try―

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Okay, to avoid confusion, here is the explanation. POV of a dog, in fact one of the dogs that the Joker sets loose on the Batman in that building where their final fight takes place (I've forgotten the name...). It ends abruptly becase it's the dog that Batman throws over the edge (poor doggie). No prizes for guessing who Smelly-man and Bad-man are. XD

Hope you like this and have a nice day!


	14. Ice, Cold, Drowning

It's been a lousy week for me with lousy weather and lousy sleep so I just had to try and kill someone.

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**Ice, Cold, Drowning**

It's cold, so c-c-c-c-cold. It sears your lungs and squeezes out your breath; oxygen bubbles float towards the surface while you sink downdowndown…

_Cannot breathe_. Thrashing your arms, trying to kick up, flailing, reaching for the white-glowing edge, but sinkingsinkingsinking…

So c-c-c-c-cold, ice in your veins, your skull, searing your brain, cannot think. Numb, frozen. So cold, so darkdarkdark…

Cold. Lungs hurt. Dark. _Will I die here? Is this the end?_ Tired. Accept. Just sleep. Just give up – _No!_ Diediedie…

Pulled up, bright light, whiteness, AIR; gasp, cough, choke, inhale, _inhale, __**inhale**_. Water, ice cold down your throat. F-f-f-f-freezing. ALIVE.

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Okay, so I didn't kill him.  
This takes place in Batman Begins, when he's training on the ice with Ducard and it breaks.

Have a nice day!


	15. Tired II

Companion piece to Tired (the one with all the 'mumbles').

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**Tired II**

"You look terrible."

"Thank you, Alfred. Can I have the cold pack?"

"So, what happened?"

"Here, have a look."

**SNORE FEST: GOTHAM'S PRINCE FALLS ASLEEP DURING WORLD FAMOUS OPERA**

"I was… tired."

_Oh, God, that soprano is simply _gorgeous_. He can't compare to you of course, Brucie darling, but –Bruce? What the…? Hey, Bruce! Wake up!_

_Unnhhh? Wha –whaaddd? Is it over already?_

"What did she do?"

"Screeched to wake the dead and threw the opera glasses at me."

"Well, I must commend her aim. It is not every day that one manages to give the Batman a black eye."

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Thanks for reading. Have a nice day.


	16. April Fool!

Sorry for the late update, especially to HoistTheColours, who's been waiting for this since the 1st of April and to gab4eva24 who always waits for me to UPDATE!. I've just been very, very, very busy lately. And when I wanted to post it yesterday, the damn thing wouldn't load.

Anyway, Happy Belated April Fool's Day!

Read and enjoy. The usual disclaimers apply.

**This is dedicated to all the Joker fangirls out there.**

Timeline: Some time after TDK. Joker has escaped from Arkham.

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**April Fool!**

One minute.

_Hello there, Gotham. Long time no see._

"Alfred, are all the buildings empty?"

_I have a test for you. To see if you _truly_ re-mem-ber me._

"Dammit!"

"What's wrong, sir?"

"Goddamn drunk driver."

_Tonight, I blow up – _no_, not a hospital. Orphanages. _Im_agine_ _all those _poor_ little kiddies…_

Thirty seconds.

_So, Gotham. Do you _care_?_

Twenty seconds.

_Will you help?_

Ten seconds.

_They have _no-one_. So it doesn't ree-ally matter, does it?_

Five seconds.

_Does it?_

Three seconds.

_Can you make it on time, Batty-boy?_

Two seconds.

One second.

_BOOM!! _

_Gotcha! _

_Happy April Fool's Day! Enjoy the fireworks!_

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Thanks for reading! Have a nice day!


	17. Memory

Because I just LUUUUUUUVVVVVVVV Bruce-angst.

Dedicated to **Bovineorbitor1** (read her BB/TDK fanfic NOW!!!!) (Bovineorbitor1, I hope you don't mind). Because her "Bridges of Moonshine" is some of the greatest fanfic I've ever read.

Timeline: After TDK.

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**Memory**

_Finders, keepers._

"Where is it?"

"What, sir?"

"The arrowhead, the one she –Rachel, gave me."

"Wayne Manor, sir."

Gone, gone, gone, just like her.

When he's alone he whispers her name; he's scared that she'll fade totally, like the faces of his parents. (He loves them, misses them, always will, but sometimes he wakes up at night, sobbing, because even in his dreams, he _cannot remember their faces_.)

A photograph. (They're laughing at the camera, not knowing that they'll all die.)

The smell of burnt paper. He doesn't ask.

A –_the _memory:

Her last words–

–they hadn't been for him.

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Haha, I LOVE that last sentence.

Okay, enough loving. I hope you liked it and have a nice day!


	18. Damsel in Distress

More Bruce/Rachel with a touch of Jokerism. Heh-heh.

Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman and co.**

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**Damsel in Distress**

She hates the stereotypical damsel in distress; she'd always refused to be one, whether in school plays or games (but not when with Bruce because he never expected her to conform). Yet now, here she is, the damsel in distress, seeing her own terrified gaze reflected in Batman's eyes.

In Bruce's eyes.

"Let her go."

The moment she hears those words she wants to scream "_Idiot!_", but fear locks her throat and strangles the words inside her head.

The clown seems to share her opinion.

"Very poor choice of words."

And now the purple-gloved hand releases her, now she's fallingfallingfalling…

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Thanks for reading.

Have a nice day!


	19. Piano

Double drabble! Yay!  
Because I'm in a good/hyper/happy mood today. XD

After writing the first version, I felt it was sort of _meh_, so I rewrote it (Version 2), but then couldn't bring myself to delete the first one.  
Both explore the 'not so different' aspect of the Batman-Joker enmity in a rather ?abstract?, ?weird?, ?huh? way.

_Dedicated to everyone who has been reading these drabbles so far, and for reviewing or adding "Bats…" to their alerts/favourites. (With a special mention to __**HoistTheColours**__. See A/N below)._

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**Piano (Version 1)**

I'm not even sure why I bought the damn thing. I don't play the piano, nobody I know does. Sure, I can probably play 'Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star' if I remember, but it's not like I'll ever bother to do so.

Oh hell, maybe I'll try, one last time.

***

I have ab-so-loot-ley _no idea_ what it is doing here.

I mean, puh-lease, who moves out and leaves behind their damn _pia_no? These things aren't exactly dirt cheap.

Looks like scrap though.

_Ping._

And out off tune too.

But maybe I'll tap a song before I drop it on someone's head.

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**Piano (Version 2)**

_Ping. Plink, plunk, plunk. Ping._ The sound is jarring; it's been years since the piano has been properly in tune, but you still continue to tap absently at the keys _plinkplunk_.

Today's her birthday.

Maybe that's why you're here, sitting at your mother's old piano.

***

Of all the things to leave behind, they left behind their damn _pia_no.

_Ping. Plink, plunk, plunk. Ping._ You find yourself tapping at the keys, humming. The piano's horribly out of tune, but the sound seems familiar.

O-kay-ay. That's strange. Have you ever played the piano? Or was it someone else? From your multiple pasts?

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(FYI, the Joker's crashing at an abandoned house. He probably escaped from Arkham again. Security nowadays...)

**A/N:** This drabble was actually inspired by the piece "Agent of Chaos" from the "The Dark Knight" soundtrack by the worship-worthy Hans Zimmer and my obsession for piano music (even though I can't play it).  
I didn't really pay much attention to it at first until HoistTheColours sorta 'advertised' it on her profile (thank you!), after which I listened a bit more closely and fell in love with the piano part that comes after the dramatic drums-and-other-instruments-which-I-can't-identify beginning.

To understand what the hell I'm talking about, find some way to listen to it (or PM me).

Enough babbling. Thanks for reading and have a nice day.

By the way, if you could tell me which one you liked better… ;-D


	20. I am Batman

I just got my hands on a new copy of "Batman Begins" and guess what? For all this years I've been watching a heavily edited version! The whole middle section was cut out! Argghhh! Damn Malaysian censors! And the cut scenes didn't even need to be cut! What's wrong with them, jealous of Christian Bale's acting/hotness or Christopher Nolan's directing, or what?! No, no, no, NO!!!

On a lighter and funnier note, I just bought a laptop skin and on the packaging it was stated "e-Power sticker cannot eat". Okay, that's good to know. (Xrai: Argghhh! My laptop skin is eating my laptop! Noooo! *Tries to pull it off. Gets eaten.* Arggh, my hand! My head! My brain!)

And thanks for giving me your opinion on both my previous drabbles. The result is somewhat of a draw. Maybe I'll do a companion piece to those... some day. Thanks again!

Anyway, on with the drabble…

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**I am Batman**

My name's Batman.

_Yes_. Bat. Man. Elizabeth Batman.

This is no joke. I'm not kidding.

Yes, it _is_ Batman. _Not_ Battam or Bateman or Bantam or whatever. B. A. T. M. A. N. You think I don't know how to spell my own name?

(Why did we have to move to Gotham?)

It was bad enough in Florida: Raised eyebrows, funny looks, "Batman? Unusual name."

But here it's worse: "Hey, Batman! Gonna beat up baddies tonight?", "Batman? Shouldn't it be Bat-_girl_?" or "Batman? Yeah, that's real funny, kid."

The stupidest question I've been asked so far:

"Are you the Batman?"

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To anyone named Batman, this drabble was written for humour only, and is not meant to offend anyone. However, if I have offended you, I apologise and if you wish, I will remove this drabble. Just drop me a note and please don't sue.

Inspired by an article about Facebook banning 'unrealistic' names.

Reviewers get a Joker Easter egg! (See profile picture)

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To **jules14** (hope you're reading this, sorry I have to get this message through to you this way, the PM function on your profile is disabled): Thank you very much for pointing that out to me. Ouch, what a M. Sue. I won't do anything yet, it'll be interesting to see what she'll do next (if you don't mind, do tell me what she replied to your review). Thanks a lot. (and sorry for getting through to you this way).

Readers, in reference to this mysterious 'conversation' above, there is another BB/TDK fic under the same name as this fic of mine. Don't get confused. ;-p


	21. Nightmares

Angst now, after all the fun we had in the previous chapter.

To read the article which inspired 'I am Batman' go to Washington Post and search for the article 'Offbeat Name? Then Facebook's No Friend'.

**Disclaimer: No own, no sue.**

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**Nightmares**

"Dad?"

"Bruce?"

"I can't sleep."

"A nightmare, huh? Bats again?" His son nods, and quickly climbs onto the huge bed, lying down between his parents.

"Can I stay?" he asks his father, huge dark eyes wide.

"Yes."

***

"Alfred?"

He's already been waiting. "Bruce– Master Wayne?"

"I can't sleep." Silent tears run down the boy's face from those dark eyes.

"Nightmares?" He's already out of bed, pulling on his dressing gown and taking the small hand, they walk back to Bruce's room.

Once the boy is tucked in, he turns to his butler, eyes wide but dry. "Will you stay?"

"Yes."

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Wanted to draw parallels between Thomas Wayne and Alfred and how Bruce sees Alfred as a father figure (Which is why it annoys me sometimes when Bruce treats Alfred very much like his butler (Yes, I know that he's the butler, but they could be more; father and son. Though I suppose then their interaction wouldn't be as fun.). Just go and adopt each other already!)

Thanks for reading! Have a nice day!


	22. Delusion

Hmm... I've been delaying posting this drabble...

**Warning:** Very, very, very mild M. I don't think I'll be changing the rating, though.

**Timeline:** Takes place after the events in TDK.

**Disclaimer: Me no own.**

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**Delusion**

Her breasts are much smaller than what they looked like in her dress (but, to be honest, he doesn't care; what does it matter?).

She's beautiful (at least, the parts of her that he can see in the dark are), but then again, so are all the others.

And while she's pretty good at making him forget himself (even if it's just for one tiny second, a moment of total oblivion), she only makes the hidden, bitter part of him emerge to remind himself angrily, forcefully that she is not (cannot be, will never be, _so stop deluding yourself_) _**her**_.

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I don't think there's the need to raise the rating to M, is there?

Thanks for reading. Have a nice day.


	23. All I Can Give Him, Here and Now

Okay, another double drabble. Partly because it's the same scene from two diffrent POV's and also becaue there will be NO UPDATE for 'Post Mortem' this weekend. Sorry, but I'm having problems with discontinuity. Chapters keeps contradicting each other and stuff. I'm working on it. Sorry.

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**All I Can Give Him**

It is dark, his face is in shadow, like all of him; his life, his soul.

"Did you mean it?"

_Say 'no', say 'no', say 'NO'._

"Yes."

He steps forward, and I know that he's going to kiss me and for one moment, I consider stepping away, saying, "No, I'm sorry I lied, but I cannot, _will not_ wait for you any longer. I love Harvey and I have made up my mind. I am going to marry him!"

But I swallow the words like bitter bile and let him have this moment.

Because it's all I can give him.

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**Here and Now**

It's very subtle, and Rachel's very good at hiding her emotions, but I can feel it.

Something's come between us.

_Is it Harvey Dent? Or Batman?_

She is older, sadder, wiser, but in many ways still my playmate, my friend, my girlfriend (and, for a while, my ex-girlfriend and then a friend again and then a disapproving one to boot), the woman who loved me, who still loves me, who will wait for me.

I kiss her. _Thank you, Rachel_.

If there's a god, any god, _please_ let me remain in this moment, forever, here and now. _Here _and _now_.

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* * *

The whole 'here and now' line is, uh,_ paraphrased_ from the book 'The Time Traveler's Wife'. That doesn't belong to me. Of course, Bruce doesn't time travel, he's just wishing that this moment would last forever. Poor guy.

Anyway, thanks for reading and have a nice day!


	24. Jokers

Update! Yay!

* * *

**Jokers**

_HEATH LEDGER_  
_Good evening, we're tonight's entertainment! We also do birthday parties and Bar Mitzvahs. Here's my card._

_MAGGIE GYLLENHAAL  
This is a 'Wild Draw Four' Uno card._

_HEATH LEDGER  
Yeah, I kinda had to use up all of the regular decks of cards in the city to stuff the judge's car full of jokers. Took fucking hours.  
**-A parody 'The Dark Knight' script, found at www. the-editing-room. com**_

*******

_"Uh, Boss?"_

(Scribble, scribble. Hummmm…)

"Boss?"

"Ye_-es_?"

"Uh, we, uh–"

"_What_? Whatwhatwhatwhat_what_. _Is_. _It_?"

"We're out of Jokers."

"Whadaya mean, we're _out_ of _Jo_kers? You had a truck _full_ of 'em. A _truck_-full"

"Yessuh, and we've taken out all the Jokers as you told us to but, uh, this is all we've got."

"_Da-amn_. Well, that's not enough, _is it_?"

"Er, no Boss."

"_So…_"

"We should get some more?"

"_We-ell_. What a _gre_at idea. You _should_ go get some more."

"Uh–"

"Well, what are you _wai_-ting for? We haven't got _all day_."

"Yes, Boss."

"_Good_."

(Scribble, scribble. Hummmm…)

* * *

'Hummmm...' means he's humming. He doing the mayor's 'obituary'. Hence the 'scribble'.

Yeah, I guess he would have actually shot the guy or something, but I suppose he's in a good mood. After all, everything's going according to plan (he does have plans, contrary to what he says. You can't rig a whole hospital to blow in one day/hour.)

Thanks for reading! Have a nice day!


	25. Nightmares II

Another take on nightmares, but something rather different this time. ;-P

**Warning:** Again, this has _very, very, very, very_ mild M. Rating of story will not change.

**Timeline:** After the events in TDK.

* * *

-

-

-

**Nightmares II**

"No..., _no_..."

The girl awakens, squinting at the sun that shines through the windows.

"No..."

The blanket is suddenly pulled away and naked, she shivers in the sudden chill.

She looks at him. His hair is tousled, his face blank, inscrutable - and then it contorts painfully and she hears him moan, "Rachel..." before he turns away.

She sighs, stares out of the window, watches the snow fall.

Looks back and starts to stroke his hair. He jerks, then relaxes. She stares at the scar on his shoulder.

Then lies down and holds him, as he dreams of another woman.

-

-

-

* * *

It's not easy being the other woman.

For some reason, I really like this drabble. Maybe because even all those gold-diggers also have a heart. Or maybe simply because it's Angst!Bruce again. LOL. I can't resist.

Thanks for reading, and have a nice day!


	26. Panda

Sheer randomness. lol

Timeline: Between Batman Begins and The Dark Knight.

* * *

-

-

-

**Panda**

"Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty. Rise and shine, Panda-man."

"Urgh, Rachel? What are you doing here?"

"Giving you your wake-up call. It's two in the afternoon."

"Where's Alfred?"

"Downstairs, taking a break from your tyranny. Here's your 'breakfast'."

"Thanks."

"Do you always sleep with your boots on?"

"Why are you here?"

"Just thought I'd drop by to see how you're doing. You were – BASE jumping?"

"Uh, yeah."

"You should be more careful, Bruce."

"The arm's fine by the way. I've been using only the right one to beat people up."

"Haha. See you downstairs."

"Rachel?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"'Panda-man'?"

"Look in the mirror."

-

-

-

* * *

I'm aware that both may be slightly OOC. But this is just for laughs.

Inspired while I was sitting the subway, wondering what Harvey Dent would look like as the Batman. And then I recalled some fanfic in which the Joker reflected that he couldn't really see Harvey smearing black paint around his eyes (sort of a creepy similiarity between Batman and the Joker, don'tcha think?). So I wondered how Bruce would look like without his mask but with the paint still around his eyes. And then it struck me. PANDA!!!

lol

Thanks for reading and have a nice day!


	27. Grief

Sorry for the late update. Been really busy this week.

Something sober after all the fun. It surprises me that there are very little fics about Rachel's funeral; the scene is such a rich trove of BruceAngst!

* * *

**-**

**-**

**-**

**Grief**

She left me everything she had.

Everything; her apartment, her possessions, her clothes, even that damn photo of Harvey and her (laughing, kissing).

Why couldn't she have given herself to me too?

I would have given her the world, had she asked for it.

I would have given her anything, anything at all (except what she wanted).

All she has given me is pain and grief.

I find myself curling up in it, burying myself in her bed, in memories, in feelings, in smells of her, because now it's all I have left.

Now she's gone.

Now I have nothing.

-

-

-

* * *

Thanks for reading.

I have two announcements:

1. Post Mortem is currently on hiatus. I decided to stop writing such short chapters so it's going to take me a while to start expanding them. Sorry.

2. I have two new BB/TDK fics up. Yay! (Yeah, shameless advertising. So shoot me.)


	28. Insanity

Hi!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Batman. I own his Unit manual though. XP

Inspired by something I came across in TVTropesdotcom, where someone wrote something about the whole crime-fighting and stuff being all in Bruce's head, and that the villians and allies are based on his fellow patients. That really struck me, so here's the drabble!

Noe: This is Alternate Universe.

* * *

-

-

-

**Insanity**

"Bruce? Bru-uce?"

"Whhaaaddd?"

"It's dinner time. We're having meatloaf today and there's apple pie for desert."

"Apple pie. Apple-apple-apple-paaiii. But I'm Batman. I'm busy. Joker ran away."

"Jack is already at the table, Bruce. He's waiting for you."

"No. NO. Jack – Joker ran away. I'm Batman. I must catch him now. No time for dinner."

"Okay then, Bruce. But we've already caught him. He's in the dining hall. But you cannot hit him, Bruce. You_ cannot_ hit him."

"B-b-b-but, why? He's bad."

"Jack is not bad, Bruce. He just has problems."

"He killed Rachel. Must hurt him. I am Batman."

-

-

-

* * *

This is probably somewhat confusing. Basically, Bruce, Rachel and Jack(Joker) are inmates in a mental asylum. Bruce suffers from delusions and schizophrenia, making him believe that he is a crime fighting hero named the Batman. Because he and Jack don't get on well, Jack naturally becomes the 'bad guy'. This drabble happens after Rachel dies (of natural causes) but Bruce belives that Jack killed her. The poor nurse is trying to stop him from jumping off a table and go eat dinner instead.

Feel free to ask questions!

Have a nice day!


	29. Murder

Haha! Updates!

Mwahaha! My review count has passed 100! Thanks to for giving me my 100th review! And many thanks to EVERYBODY who has left reviews for these drabbles. I love you guys. (hugs)

**_This fic is dedicated to all of you._**

**Disclaimer:** Batman does not belong to me. And let me get this straight. This drabble is written in a way I, uh, _borrowed_ from a book of which I can't remember the title and the author. All I did was change it a little bit here and there and make it Batman-centric. So the, uh, _style_ does not belong to me either. XP

* * *

**-**

**-**

**-**

**Murder**

First there is his father murdering his mother.

First there is this, the clatter of a drawer as she pulls out a knife and her gasping-crying-begging as he takes it from her and _please, p-p-p-please, __**please!**_ as she falls back, falls back against the kitchen cabinets. The knife runs across her cheek, tears run down her face. And still the screaming.

_The screaming is me._

And now, his father, gasping-panting-groaning from the sheer effort of hacking her into pieces, interrupted in his work, looks over his shoulder, the knife bleeding in his hand. And frowns at him.

"Why so serious?"

-

-

-

* * *

I'm pretty sure you can guess who and what this is all about. Right?

Hehe.

Keep in mind, this is exploring only _one __version _of his pasts.

Thanks for reading and have a nice day!


	30. Wait

At last! The document for this fic took f--ing _ages_ to load.

Enough of Bruce. It's Alfred's turn now!

* * *

-

-

-

**Wait**

Bruce isn't the only one up at night.

He knows he's under strict 'orders' to _sleep, Alfred. You're old, you need it._

_Old? You wait till you're my age, young man, and we'll see if you're just as fit._

But he can't even if he'd want to.

There's this constant worry that something may happen; broken bones, bleeding to death in some gutter or that dreaded phone call…

But all he can do is sit in his robe and slippers and wait, rock the chair, stare at the clock, and wait, wait, wait.

Wait for his boy to come back.

-

-

-

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Under the suggestion of HoistTheColours, I changed the previous chapter, "Murder", so check out the new version. It's WAY waywaywayway better. My thanks to her.  
Any comments/requests to change it back shall be taken up with me. Feel free to PM me anytime!


	31. Mary Sues

Something funny, hmm?

A bit parody-ish. And contains some OOC-ness. Somewhat inspired by a 'Watchmen' fanfic where the characters are chased(or something) by Mary Sues (which are then gotten rid of in a not-so-graphic-but still-fatal manner). This of course, remains T. Implied violence, only if you squint. Hard.

* * *

-

-

-

**Mary Sues**

"Bruce!" she screams. "Bruce, I can't stop them! They keep coming!"

"Lock the door!"

"You think I haven't done that already?"

"Call Alfred."

"Too late. They got him."

"_Damn_!"

"You're the Batman! Fly us out of here or something!"

It takes all of his patience not to yell back at her. "Rachel, in case you haven't noticed, I'm blindfolded and tied to a chair."

"Dammit." She rips a drawer out of the desk and digs through its contents; pens, paper, a stapler which she hefts experimentally then tosses aside. "Isn't there anything we can use against these blasted Mary Sues?"

-

-

-

* * *

Before anyone gets any... thoughts, Bruce is tied to a chair and blinfolded to prevent him from succumbing to the Mary Sues' bedazzling charms. He is a male, after all. No offence meant to the guys reading this. XD

There will be more of these, involving various characters from BB/TDK.


	32. Twisted Mirror

This is for movie. obsessed, for giving me my 100th review.

Had a brief fit of insanity (probably brought on by the lack of sleep, or just plain moonlight madness) on Wednesday night, which prompted me to paint black circles round my eyes with eyeshadow. LOL.

And Joker fans, or just Batman fans in general, or psychology/sociology nuts like me, read the 'Deconstructing Psycho Killer Clowns' Chapter of _The Pyrotechnic Insanitarium: American Culture on the Brink_ by Mark Dery which can be found at Scribd. It is GREAT. Read it. (Just type in 'Arkham Asylum' or the whole title in the search bar). Scribd also has the TDK and BB (slightly different from the movie, not sure if it's the real deal) script. Yay!

* * *

-

-

-

**Twisted Mirror**

He's tired and he'd like nothing better than to fall into bed and sleep.

Off comes the mask; the cowl, the armour, the cape, the growl, the symbol. Slowly, piece by piece.

Until all he can see in the mirror is his pale, pale face and the black ringed eyes.

***

He's feeling great. Today will be a good day to sow mayhem and destruction.

On comes the face that had rubbed off in his sleep; the pale, pale greasepaint on his brow and cheeks, the bright red lips.

He looks in the mirror and smears black circles round his eyes.

-

-

-

* * *

Always loved that similarity between them, even if it can be seen as a temporary state (for Bruce anyway). He should be put in a room with the Joker without his mask on, but with the paint. Haha! I wonder what he'll do. Does he realise?


	33. Movie Magic

Suffered a moment of fangirl-ism. Sorry! Please bear with me!

Terminator Salvation is coming out a week later here, only on the 28th May. Darn. (grumblegrumblegrumblegrumble)

**Disclaimer: I don't own Batman or Terminator.**

This is _just for laughs_.

Setting: At a cinema. Takes place anytime after BB.

* * *

-

-

-

**Movie Magic**

Trailer:

CHRISTIAN BALE

SAM WORTHINGTON

THE

END

BEGINS

**TERMINATOR SALVATION**

IN CINEMAS THIS MAY

Girlfriend: (Nudge) Bruce? Bruce?

Bruce Wayne: (Wakes up) Huh? What?

Girlfriend: Let's go watch **TERMINATOR SALVATION** once it's out.

Bruce Wayne: **TERMINATOR SALVATION**? Why? I thought you don't like science-fiction movies.

Girlfriend: Ermm…

Bruce Wayne: What?

Random Moviegoer: Shhh!

Girlfriend: Never mind. You'll get mad.

Bruce Wayne: Why would –

Random Moviegoer: Look here fella, you don't own this place so–

Bruce Wayne: (Turns around.) I do.

Random Moviegoer: …

Girlfriend: Nothing against you, Brucie, but the lead actor…

Bruce Wayne: Bale?

Girlfriend: He's just soooo _hot_.

-

-

-

* * *

(Defensively) Well he _is_. I don't get the hype about Hugh Jackman (no offense meant to Mr. Jackman and his fans). Christian Bale is infinitely yummier!

Poor Bruce. Competition!

Lol. Hahahahahahahaha.


	34. Mary Sues II

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter! It had been great fun writing it so I'm glad you enjoyed reading it just as much!

I like this better than the first Mary Sue one. And this is my first drabble with Harvey Dent!

_Harvey, Harvey, Harvey Dent._ --The Joker; The Dark Knight

Warning: Implied violence. Again. OOC-ness.

* * *

-

-

-

**Mary Sues II**

She paces around their victim like a cat ready to pounce.

He looks from the coin in one hand to the gun in the other then into the colour-changing eyes of the beautiful woman gagged and tied to the chair.

"Harvey! What are you waiting for? Shoot her!"

"But both sides of my coin are heads!"

"Argh!" she yells in exasperation and snatches the gun from him. "First Bruce, now you. You men are so _useless_."

"Rachel wait–"

**BLAM!!!**

"Hmmm. That wasn't too hard. The ones attacking Bruce were tougher."

"You just _shot_ her."

"So? She's a Mary Sue."

-

-

-

* * *

Gasp! Evil Rachel. But I suspect she's having lots of fun. XP

Haha!

Next chapter: some soberness after all this hysterical fun.


	35. Tired III

Terminator Salvation only got 33 on RottenTomatoes. (sob) But, I'm still gonna go watch it.

Anyway...

...

More Alfred!

* * *

-

-

-

**Tired III**

While it's good to know that he's still alive, he dreads the calls too, because it usually means that the alive-ness is only _barely_.

Which is, as always, very bad news.

(It frequently amazes Alfred how often Bruce gets hurt; he occasionally wonders if his ward, in some kind of masochistic state of mind, actually _walks_ into the knives/bullets/fists/feet/whatever.)

Sometimes he's just tired.

It's not just the bruises and the stitches and the blood. It's the pain that hides in the man (boy) behind his shield (weapon) of fear, hate and anger.

So tired.

He's getting too old for this.

-

-

-

* * *

Poor Alfred.

Somewhat inspired by Batman: Gotham Knight. I rewatched it but only found that it pissed me off (it was tolerable the first time I watched it). Maybe I'm just nitpicky but it doesn't do justice to Nolan's reboot of Batman. Meh.


	36. Hangover

Only one review for poor Alfred? (sniffles)  
XP

I'm feeling lousy today (not related to subject above, just feel like feeling lousy) and being in an evil author mood, Bruce will be suffering along with me today.

**Disclaimer: **Blahblahblahblabbityblah.

* * *

-

-

-

**Hangover**

"Urggh."

"You all right, Master Wayne?"

"I feel horrible."

"Hangovers do that to you, sir."

"It's like – it's like my head's imploding. Thanks, Alfred."

"You're welcome. I hope it helps. By the way, you have a meeting today, with the board of directors. Shall I–"

"No. No, I'm going."

"Very well, sir. And as for your date later with Svetlana…?"

"Ohhhhh, _damn_. Tell her I'm ill. And, uh, tell her I'm highly contagious and that she shouldn't come see me."

"As you wish. If you don't mind me saying this, sir…"

"Unnhh… What?"

"It bloody well serves you right."

-

-

-

* * *

You may remember Svetlana as the girl with horrible taste in clothes from "No Way in Hell".

I'm aware that Bruce just pretends to drink a lot but lets make this an exception. Sometimes things become too much for even the Batman to handle.

Do check out my icon, please. (puppy eyes) I made some of these in conjunction with my Mary Sue-bashing drabbles.

At a book fair recently, I came across a Batman Handbook which gave all kinds of nifty tips on how to throw a batarang, build a Batcave, resist Poison Ivy's pheromones and eveything else you need to know to become a caped crusader. Cute!


	37. SuperBruce

Thank you so much for the reviews! I love you guys!

(hugs)

* * *

**-**

**-**

**-**

**Super-Bruce**

Martha had just done up her hair when a red-blue whirlwind raced into her room and scrambled onto the bed.

"Mom! Mom!" yelled her son, jumping up and down. She noticed with a frown that he was wearing… a red pair of Thomas' boxers over his blue striped pyjamas and there was a tablecloth tied around his neck.

"Mom! Look at me!" Bruce yelled. "I'm Superman!"

And with that, the five-year-old bounced up one last time, leaped into her arms and gave her a loud, wet kiss on her cheek before dashing off to 'rescue' her husband from the bath.

-

-

-

* * *

I know I just majorly screwed up the continuity and the timeline of the comics, but lets just ignore that for the sake of the drabble, hey?

This idea just flew into my head and bounced around in my skull until I wrote it. I find the idea of Baby!Bruce as Superman really cute, not to mention funny when I think about how embarrassed he would be when he meets Superman. I think the Justice League would have a real good laugh about that if they would find out. XD


	38. Smile

Sorry for the late update.

This is for **HoistTheColours**, for having reviewed _every single drabble_ (well, except for one XP) I have written, and for the unwavering support.  
May this put a smile on her face (the nice kind of smile; the one minus knives and blood and scars and evil psycho clowns).

Of course, not forgetting my other reviewers, thank you VERY, VERY MUCH! Without your lovely reviews and support, I would have given up on this fic a long time ago.

* * *

-

-

-

**Smile**

This is what happens later.

There is this, her blood _dripdripdripping_ from the knife in his hands, and the small boy, screaming-sobbing-gasping as he scrambles back, back against the bloody wall (and the pieces of his mother moving, twitching on the floor, her fingers curling towards him) and again the knife; warm, sticky, tracing red lines across his cheeks.

_Wanna know how I got these scars?_

And then, the taste of blood on his tongue, in his mouth, his mother's blood and then–

–and then, the sharpness against flesh, his cheek stretching, stretching…

"Let's put a smile on that face."

-

-

-

* * *

I'm depressed. Torturing Mistah J and reviews make me happy. I've already done the first, so it's up to you to do the latter.

I was going to put "Bats" on hiatus (because I have exams tomorrow, woe is me!) but then I thought what the heck I'll just post this anyway. To those having summer hols, enjoy them! Have fun and have a nice day!

Oh, and I finally got to see Terminator Salvation and well, I didn't really have my hopes up high, but it was… quite okay. Unfortunately it was just that. SPOILER ALERT: The trailer was better. And while there was yumminess (both Bale and Worthington), Christian Bale could have been better (Worthington was fine). His role was quite… I'm sad to say 'cliché' and he's much too good for that. I was hoping for more emotional depth from his character. And even good ol' Arnie (well, his body double anyway) was… ho-hum. Sigh. But it's good as a summer blockbuster with lots of _loud sound_, _cool special effects _and _stuff blowing up_.  
But I suggest you watch it, whether it's at the theatre or when the DVD comes out, or if you're gonna download it or whatever. Just watch it.

PS Those who liked Chapter 28 of "Bats" (the one with CrazyBruce) should check out the latest chapter of Bovineorbitor1's "Bridges of Moonshine".


	39. White

More Bruce and Alfred, because they rock. (huggles)

**Disclaimer:** Me no own, you no sue.

* * *

**-**

**-**

**-**

**White**

It's snowing sunshine.

He lies back in bed and watches the flakes catch the light as they tumble and whirl and fall against the glass.

Frost on the windows.

It's cold and he burrows deeper under the blankets, deeper into the bed which is warm, and soft and very, _very_ cosy.

All that's missing is the hot chocolate.

And that's when Alfred comes in with the steaming cup which he accepts with a smile and sips carefully before shifting to one side of the bed so that his friend can sit down beside him.

Together, they watch Gotham turn white.

-

-

-

* * *

Hmmm... it's been snowing a lot in my fics lately. Maybe because it's so hot here. 33 degrees Celcius! Argh, I hate global warming, though it serves us right. My exams are over! Two weeks of hols (term break)! Yay!

Updates will still be only two or three times a week though. Enjoy your summer holidays!


	40. Chapter 40

I did promise some of you guys something angsty. Not sure if this would count as _**ang**__sty_. It's...

Hohummmhmmmm(sigh).

Hope you get it.

**Disclaimer:** Not. Mine. NOT MINE!!!! _/notminenotminenotminenotmineno-__**uhrk**__―!/_

…

…

* * *

MOMMY'S DEAD.

DADDY'S DEAD.

BRUCIE'S DEAD.

-**arkham asylum: A **_**serious**_** HOUSE ON A **_**serious**_** EARTH

* * *

**

Dead.  
_/dead/_

(Gun. Shot. Scream. Pearls.

Blood.)

Dead.

They're dead.

(Blood. Street.)

Dead.

Gone.

_/forever/_

(Blood. Pearls.)

Dead.

Your fault.

(Blood. Clothes.)

Dead.

_Your_.

_Fault_.

_/your fault/_

(Blood. Face.

_/yours__/_)

Dead.

(Blood. Blooming.)

Dead.

(Blood. Like flowers.

Like _roses_.

**R****e****d**.)

(_Froze_n scream.

_Glass_y stare.)

_/it__'__s/_

(**U**n)_R_eal.

Time_les__s_.

Dead.

_**Your**_**.**

_**Fault**_**.**

(Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Yourfault yourfault yourfault yourfault yourfault yourfaultyour_fault__yourfault__**yourfault**_–)

Dead.

(Your he_**art**_.

_Beat_ing.)

(Fast_fast_fast―  
_/lub. dub. lub. dub. lub. dub…/_

sss**slow**ww…)  
_/lubdublubdublubdub―/_

(Gasping. _/Can__**not**__ breath/_ Crying. _/Tears/ _Sobbing. _/Coughchokeretch/_)

Dead.

(Blood. Tears. Guilt.)

Man.

_De__a__d_.

Woman.

_Dea__d__._

Boy.

…

…

…

_/Dead./_

_(all. everyone. dead)

* * *

_

Yes, there is no title.

Hope you got this.

_Explanation:_ I just read **arkham asylum**_**: A serious HOUSE ON A serious EARTH**_

The underlined letters form part of the quote, in case you were wondering why they're so randomly underlined.

* * *

This sounded a lot more depressing yesterday(when I wrote it). But I suppose just having read the graphic novel at 1 in the morning had something to do with it.

Just tell me what you think.


	41. Favour

Thank you guys for the great reviews for the previous chapter. Now for some humour.

* * *

-

-

-

**Favour**

"Hi, Bruce. If you don't mind, I'm calling in a favour you owe me."

"I owe you a favour?"

"Remember that time when I took the blame for that vase you broke? _That_ favour."

"Rachel, I was _seven_!"

"I don't care, you owe me. Besides, I really need your help right now."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"I need to borrow your suit."

"I take it you don't mean my, uh, _normal_ suits."

"I don't need your Giorgio Armani, Bruce. I'm talking about the Batsuit."

"Why on earth would you need it?"

"We-ell, Bruce, have you ever tried to pill a cat?"

-

-

-

* * *

I suppose some of you, especially those who don't own a cat are going "Huh?". Well, basically, pilling a cat means feeding a cat a pill because it's sick, etc. And I tell you, it is _torture_. Cats are really sweet at most times but when you try to pill them, they turn in hissing, spiting, clawing, demon-beasts from hell (my cat anyway). Hence the need for the Batsuit. (Of course, since I don't have a Batsuit or a rich billionaire ex-boyfriend I can borrow it from, poor ol' me has to make to with oven mitts, blankets and a few extra hands. It takes three people and half an hour to pill my cat. )

Some may think that Selina Kyle may be better suited for this dialog, but I think she can handle her cats. Better than Rachel anyway.

Have a nice day!


	42. CPR

Sorry for the late update. Here's a fun disclaimer, the drabble, good news and bad news. Drabble first.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **

Xrai: _(dangling over the side of a reallyreally tall building) _No! No! I don't own you! I don't own anything! Please don't drop me! I won't claim you again, I swear to God–

Batman: Swear to _me_!

Xrai: Arggh!!!

* * *

**-**

**-**

**-**

**CPR**

Bruce wakes up.

Which is odd, because he can't quite remember going to bed. Nor does he usually sleep with his mouth wide open. Nor can he recall eating cherries…

"What the–!" and it is an immediate scramble backwards that gets him away from Lucius' rather disappointed looking secretary and sends the office spinning.

***

Lucius' voice: "What on earth were you doing, Susan?"

There's the unfocused sight of a woman's red face. And of his concerned CEO.

"I was giving him CPR. He'd collapsed."

He's sitting, somewhere. Someone's helping him drink some water.

"Many late nights, Mr Wayne?"

-

-

-

* * *

**A/N:** It's funny, but I find it kinda sad too. His double life is taking a toll on him.

I _**have **_to get an internship at Wayne Enterprises.

Now for the good news…  
Drabbles will be longer. I've gotten rid of my 100 word limit. Some will still be short but I won't cut the longer ones anymore.

As for the bad news:  
My life is a bitch at the moment. It's partly my fault and partly because Life is just one major A-hole. I'm not having enough time to write and my pre-written drabbles are slowly and painfully running out. So updates will only be once a week now. Sorry.


	43. Failure

Hi, here's the update.

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**You want to save everyone. You always do. But you **_**can't**_**.  
–Obi-Wan Kenobi to Anakin Skywalker,  
STAR WARS: Revenge of the Sith (Novelisation); Matthew Stover**

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**Failure**

She is another one he can't save.

He knows this the moment he arrives too late to stop him from pulling the trigger, the moment the shot rings out, the moment her blood spatters the floor.

Too late. Always too late.

Her mugger lies groaning to one side and for a moment he wishes that the roles were changed; that this woman he doesn't know were still alive and that her attacker was the one dying.

At least he may have been able to walk away from that one.

No, _no_, don't think that. He doesn't want _anybody_ to die.

Not him, not her, not anybody.

But even the Batman can't stop people from dying.

She dies in his arms in a cold, dirty alley at age twenty-something when she should have died in her sleep at least sixty years later, snug in bed, warm, happy and his hands are covered with her blood and so is the rag he tore from the mugger's shirt to stop the bleeding, and there's just _so much_ blood…

Police sirens. He has to leave but he can't, not before–

–not before saying, "I'm sorry."

And then he melts into the shadows, blood on his hands.

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This whole update-once-a-week thing sucks. :-(

Maybe, if I can kick-start my muse, things will improve. Hopefully.

Have a nice day!

And, to all American readers, Happy 4th of July!


	44. Father

Thank you very much for all the lovely reviews I've received for the previous chapter.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bruce Wayne. Or Alfred. If I did… I'm not quite sure what I would do with them.

Warning: Loads of mushiness.

It's a bit too late for Fathers' Day, but I present you…

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**Father**

The cave is empty. There's a moment of panic, a quick _thudthud_ of his heart – but the car's here, thank God.

So where is he?

Alfred knows he's not in the penthouse because he's just come from there, tired, worried and annoyed, because he's once again forced to carrying breakfast around like some bloody waiter, breakfast that is now cold and probably wouldn't be eaten anyway, not when it's already lunchtime.

The only sound that fills the vast, stark chamber is the humming of the computers. There's no tired greeting, no clank of tools, no thumping of fists against the sorry looking punching bag in the corner, no deep inhale-exhale of sleep.

Now he's worried again.

_Thudthudthud_.

Bruce is usually the pessimistic one, but even Alfred has his own worst-case scenarios; the dead, broken body of his son often haunts his dreams.

_Thudthudthudthud_.

He hasn't told Bruce of course. Won't. Never will. _Ever_.

The Tumbler sits silently like a sleeping beast – _Where _are_ you, Bruce, goddammit? _– and he fears–

–he fears another nightmare; that he's slept through an emergency, nodding off in dreamland while his boy took his last breath…

_Really, Pennyworth, it's about time you start keeping less morbid company besides your cracked employer and a bunch of bats._

Master Bruce is all right. He always is. Usually. He has to be.

He often worries about the future, what Bruce would do without him. But at least he knows that he'll do his utmost best to stick around as long as his boy needs him. What he fears more (_You selfish bastard, Pennyworth_.) is waiting out the rest of his life, just waiting… waiting… waiting… waiting for someone who will never return.

_Thudthudthudthudthud_.

With a hydraulic _hisssss_ the hatch-door slides open and –

_Thudthudthudthudthudthudthudthud_…

–and–

–and–

–and he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry so he settles on choked chuckle.

Because–

–because the Batman, Gotham's Dark Knight, playboy Bruce Wayne, boy billionaire, his employer, his ward, his friend, his _son_–

_/The failing bundle in his arms shrieks and cries to wake the dead and flails and kicks some more and he's terrified that he might end up dropping it so he tentatively extends a pinky which is immediately seized in a tiny fist and stuck into an equally tiny, toothless mouth._

_At last. Silence. Blessed silence. _

_Martha Wayne sags back into her pillows, totally worn out, weary and smiles at the equal parts of terror and charmed delight on the butler's face as the newest member of the Wayne family toothlessly gnaws at his makeshift pacifier._

"_That's his mark of approval. He likes you, Alfred. Now you're stuck with him. Forever. My sympathies."_

"_I'll look forward to it, Madam."/_

–lies curled up in the seat of his car, wrapped in his cape the way a little baby bat would curl up under its mother's wing. Fast asleep.

And he finds himself clutching the goddamn breakfast basket like it's his firstborn.

Tears prick his eyes, but it's too late, he can't– can't– shed a tear or two (or more, like the night Thomas and Martha died, holding Bruce in his arms as they mourned together, silently, in the dark – that's where it all began, wasn't it? In the dark.) because the bat wakes up and the illusion of babyhood is gone, he's grown up now and smearing black greasepaint across his cheeks as his rubs a hand down his sleep-drunk face and asking "Alfred?"

Alfred Pennyworth blinks. Once. Twice. Smiles.

"Good morning, Bruce."

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This is over five-hundred words. O_o

God, I hope this wasn't too mushy. (Facepalms)  
It was actually meant to be something about guys and their cars (I love the Tumbler, it's _so_ cool and I want one. XP), but then I was ambushed by the Mushy-Plot-Bunny Brigade and ended up with this.  
Gah.

Have a nice weekend.


	45. Mr Batman

I know it's not Christmas yet, but what the heck.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bruce Wayne. I know now what I'd do with him if I did. I'd clone him and auction off the copies for millions of dollars. The original will be mine of course. (Insert evil villainous scientist laugh.)

**Warning:** Language

**AN:** Contains "American Psycho" references but they are for additional humour only and no knowledge of the book/movie is required to read and understand this drabble.

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**Mr. Batman**

"Patrick! So glad you made it! And this must be Cecilia."

I smile, shake his hand and wonder how the hell I've been talked into attending this party. I hate parties. The place looks like a tinsel factory blew up in it; the glittery stuff's everywhere, with mistletoe dangling from the ceiling every few feet. God, how tacky. Utterly _tasteless_.

"Patrick, stop scowling. It's Christmas, don't be such a Grinch." Cecilia tugs my arm and we circulate the ballroom, meeting people, the Mayor, the Commissioner, various higher-ups of Gotham and a hell lot more utterly boring people. I talk a lot. Stand a lot. Drink a lot.

"Hey, Patrick! Where's Elizabeth?"

"At a friend's party. She's too old now to be seen with her old man. I'll just embarrass her."

"Haha. Teenagers."

"Yes."

We talk, talk and talk some more. I'm beginning to feel the need to sit down. My feet hurt.

At the end of the hall, under a bunch of mistletoe, some poor bastard is mobbed by horde of shrieking women.

I head for a seat but Cecilia grabs my arm and drags me off to meet some other snobby socialite who's going to ask how I like cutting up people for a living and if Gotham is better than New York.

Hell, no it isn't. I should never have agreed to the transfer.

Marcus, a colleague, grabs my arm. I feel like some goddamn parcel at a pass-the-parcel game. "Pat! There's someone I'd like you to meet."

That someone turns out to be the poor bastard from under the mistletoe. There's a blonde clinging to his arm and he looks he's doing his utmost best to be rid of both her and the tinsel crown in his hair.

"Patrick, this is Bruce Wayne," Marcus introduces us, once she's been shaken off. "Bruce, this is Patrick Batman, Gotham Hospital's head surgeon who's just been transferred here from New York. Patrick, Mr Wayne is the one who funded the hospital's new emergency and trauma unit."

"That's very charitable of you, Mr Wayne."

"It's the best I could do, after the Joker blew it up, Mr– I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name–?"

"Batman. Patrick Batman."

Here it comes, the handshake, then the double-take as realization strikes, the raised eyebrow, the look of surprise, etc., etc..

"Batman? As in Bat-Man?"

"Yes, Mr. Wayne and please don't ask me if I'm Gotham's resident nutcase because I most certainly am _not_."

"Call me Bruce. Well, I have to admit, that's an interesting name you've got there. Must be popular with the patients."

"They usually think it's a joke. Though one lady did think I was going to chop her up into little pieces on the operating table."

He smiles, but it's a vapid, empty smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"I think it would be cool."

Cool? With Elizabeth asking me if we could change our names every second day? With my patients asking me if I'm joking? Reacting like I'm a crazy psycho each time I introduce myself? But of course, this _is_ Bruce Wayne. The guy's a completely vacuous asshole from what I've heard.

God, where the _hell_ is Cecilia? What good is a wife for if it isn't to rescue one from annoying playboys insistent on making small talk?

"So, Patrick, what _do_ you think of the Batman?"

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I've been watching _waaayyy_ too much 'American Psycho'. I just love the Batman-Bateman-psycho/nutcase-Christian Bale parallels. (grin) Patrick Batman, of course, is Elizabeth's dad (from the chapter 'I Am Batman'). Not at all related to Patrick Bateman in any way. (wink)

Thank you much for all the marvellous reviews I got for the previous chapter. You guys really like mush, huh? By the way, if you can/want to, check out the Batman comic issue 687, there's this part where Superman and Wonder Woman visit Wayne Manor (after Bruce 'died') and they ask Alfred how he is and he says "Am I 'all right'? No sir, I am not. My son has died." And the look on his face is absolutely _heartrending_. (snifflesob)


	46. The First Night

**Disclaimer:** Me own, you sue - ah, I mean uh, me NO own, you NO sue. (But I'm currently in negotiations with DC Comics concerning the rights to buy Bats. Wish me luck! XP)

POV: Alfred's

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**The First Night**

The first night, neither of you sleep. The boy is in your arms as you sit in the dark, too dark, too silent living room, staring at the clock, waiting for this nightmare to end.

(It doesn't. Won't. Ever.)

The clock hands blur in and out, in and out of focus as tears, hot, salty, reluctant tears roll down your cheeks, your old, too old, wrinkled cheeks. You try to hold them back. You have to be strong, strong for Bruce. You are all he has left now.

Just as he too is now all you have.

Tears drip down onto your hand and you're not sure if they are yours or his. You can see his reflection in the glass panel of the grandfather clock, the young, too young face, the pain, the horror, the disbelief. The guilt.

And his eyes, so old, too old for one so young.

(Later, you will always see his eyes as his only unchanging feature. His eyes, even at forty, will always be those of an eight-year-old boy who just watched his parents die.)

The moon slowly fades away. The shadows retreat but don't disappear. They just darken. And gather in pools under everything, hiding, waiting.

That was the first night.

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This is the first part of a series of drabbles that take place the nights/days/weeks/months after the Wayne's deaths. They will not necessarily follow in order but I'll add a note the companion pieces when I put them up.


	47. Chocolate

I'm sorry for not updating last week. I had Writer's Block (lousy excuse, I know) and I wasn't very happy with any of my pre-written stuff and I had just posted a separate fic (The User's Guide and Manual to JONATHAN CRANE/THE SCARECROW), so well, yeah.

So to make it up to you guys, I give you this fic.

Introducing: Selina Kyle! Catwoman!

The idea for this popped into my head a very long time ago, but it never turned out right when I wrote it down. Hopefully, this time, it works.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Batman. I do own Cat but minus the Woman. Selina Kyle ain't mine.

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**Chocolate**

It's not her usual prey, but she really can't pass up the chance at a chocolate replica of the Batman (artist's impression) covered in edible gold leaf. Too bad for Gotham that now it won't be on display as planned tomorrow, in conjunction with the Tricentennial celebration.

She's a little disappointed.

It's certainly a lot less handsome than its template and the gold look just doesn't go well with the fangs and the claws (artist's impression, and this artist has certainly _never _seen the Batman).

She loves the way they've done the cape though; the way it curls around the broad shoulders (they got that right) and down those muscled arms (and that too) like liquid gold, the way it flows down the strong back and over that lovely ass of his (and – mmm_hmm_, meee_ow_, that's right too).

Delicious. Delectable. Almost too good to eat.

She scowls out of the window, watches the neon lights blur together as they zip past.

Inhales deeply, savours the rich scent.

Her companion, however, is not so appreciative of the smell; he's far more taciturn than usual and he's actually had the _audacity_ to cuff her hands!

But when she slips out of them thirty seconds later and dangles them in front of his nose, all he does is narrow his eyes.

So it is the silent treatment then. Fine. She can play this game too.

As things go, tonight is a good night. So her prize was snatched away from her. At least no one else can have it either, now that it's been molten down to gold-brown goop. And it's no small consolation that its equally delectable life-size model is sitting right next to her. Covered in chocolate.

_Delicious_.

Emptying that vat of chocolate over his head is one of the best things she's ever done in her life.

There's her hand on his knee and she frowns a bit because she's not sure if chocolate can be washed out of leather.

To hell with that.

She creeps nearer (mmm_hmm_) and curls closer (smells so _good_) and kisses him (and hopes that he doesn't throw her out like he did last time).

She brushes his lips with her own and then she can't hide her smirk that forces itself on her face when she feels him flinch back, just a tiny, _tiniest_ bit.

And then he's a breathing, chocolate-covered statue again.

She nibbles along the strong, square jaw and delights in the taste of cocoa and the tension she feels there, skin stretched over clenched muscle stretched over bone. And the prickly two-day stubble tastes like chocolate too.

Tiny licks along his cheekbones reveal pale skin under the chocolate and angles which she traces with her fingers, softly, gently, delicately. And again, dragging her claws slightly because she enjoys the hiss of breath which brushes against her cheek.

Common sense tells her she's playing a dangerous game but she ignores it, because teasing him is just so much _fun_.

And she knows he'll have to give in sooner. Or later. Or now.

When he starts kissing back, she knows she has won.

Both are surprised by how natural? normal? this kiss feels.

It isn't bad and awkward, like first kisses often are. No. It's hard and fierce (and chocolatey) and dangerously intimate because they can't afford this closeness, these feelings, this _thing_; whatever it is that's going on between them.

But this kiss… this kiss feels _right_.

The kiss tastes of sweat and adrenaline, the kind of rush you can only get from running on rooftops on dark, dark nights.

Of mask and secrets. Of nights together, running, chasing. Of the thrill of the hunt, the capture. The escape.

It tastes of loneliness, of emptiness, of need.

And of chocolate. Dark, dark chocolate. Bittersweet.

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I wish to conduct a poll to find out who everyone thinks is the most emo fictional character ever created. Unfortunately, I haven't got enough names for the poll yet so I'm open to suggestions (preferably from well known fandoms). So far I have Hamlet, Bruce Wayne, Anakin Skywalker and Harry Potter on my list. How about Wolverine? Spiderman from the third movie? To those who have read "Wicked", can Elphaba be considered emo? Please help! And thanks!


	48. Pyjamas

Sorry for not updating last week. Life got in the way again.

To everyone who reviewed the last ficlet, you have my thanks. And a hug. And thanks for the poll suggestions. The poll is now up on my profile. Please vote!

Somehow, despite the freedom that ficlets give me, I miss writing drabbles. This here is a sesquidrabble - 150 words.

Need some humour.

**Timeline: **A while after the events in Batman Begins. After the Batman craze starts catching on in Gotham.

**Disclaimer:** I forgot what goes here. What am I supposed to say? That Batman is mine? That if anyone uses him without my permission I have the right to sue?

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**Pyjamas**

Paper rustles. Slick silk slides through his hands and– "What the _hell_?"

"Very nice, sir."

"What on _Earth_ are these?"

"I do believe they are pyjamas, sir. You're supposed to wear them to bed."

"And she expects me to wear these?" His fist clenches around a handful of silk. The black on white pattern grins madly up at him.

"I think she would have thought it was funny, Master Bruce."

"Yeah, funny. _Hilarious_. Bat pyjamas? Alfred, this is ridiculous. I can't wear _these_. Are you sure these are from Rachel?" He can't believe she would actually do something like this to him. How _could _she?

"Quite sure, sir. Here's the card."

"'_Happy Belated Birthday, Bruce. I know this present comes rather late but I figured that your wardrobe needed replenishing. Hope you like them. Love, Rachel._' She must be crazy."

"I think she would have thought them… _cute_, sir."

"_Cute_?"

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Hmm...

Have a nice weekend.


	49. Warmth

Sorry that this is a little late. I'm currently sitting for my exam mocks and they suck. Or I suck. Whatever.

Two-hundred reviews!! That's a record for me!! Thank you very, very much! (Hugs) And thanks to everyone who participated in my poll. (If you haven't yet, please do, and my apologies if it's to hard. If you can't decide, flip a coin. XP)

**Disclaimer: **Let's flip a coin. Heads, I own the Batman. Tails, I don't. *flips* Argh! Goshdarn it to heck! Tails!

Didn't think I'd be writing another BatCat piece so soon. Batman/OtherCharacters shippers, please bear with me!

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**Warmth**

"Miss me?" she asks, drapes her arms around his neck. Hooks a leg around his and slides nearer. This close, she can feel his heart beat faintly under all that Kevlar. In and out of rhythm with her own _thu-thud, t-thud, thud, thudthud_. Her smile is Cheshire; sly, knowing, cheeky, all hidden claws.

He doesn't answer but he lets her stay that way a little longer, with her arms and a leg wrapped around him and their breath mingling, misting and falling gently between them. Her warmth feels good in the cold.

She's been gone too long.

The last second to one ticks down and the hour wraps Gotham in silence and freezes that moment for a while, just for the two of them.

She clings a little as he gently pulls her arms away, pouts when he turns to go.

"You haven't answered my question."

The smile is a narrow paintstroke up his cheek and it stays there as his breath warms her ear and he whispers, "A little."

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Thanks for reading. To those who miss my longer ficlets, don't worry, the next chapter will mostly likely be a lot longer.

Have nice day!


	50. Bats and The City

Forgive me for posting so late. Muse has been on the fritz.

Disclaimer: (Bizarro speak) I hate Batman. He is mine! DC can go to heaven!

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**Bats and The City**

"Hello, Bruce, Brucie, Batman."

He's seen the view from the top of WayneEnterprises often enough. In day or at night, the view is beautiful. But it's cold up here. And he's only in his underwear.

"Hello. It's been a while."

"Far, far too long a while. I've missed you terribly."

"I've always been here."

"Then why never come see me?"

"I've been… busy."

"Busy. I see."

Her laugh. Like giggles and shouts and murmurs and whispers. Voices of the city. Her laugh is enchanting. And he loves it. But the cold wind that greets him each night, tugging at his cape and caressing his face now whips her laugh away, away from him. In the silence that follows they sit side by side with their legs dangling over the edge. Eighty stories up. The feel of the wind curling between his toes. He loves that too.

"Why?"

"Hmm?" She stirs, lifting her head from his shoulder.

"Why?"

"Because…" Her forehead scrunches and her lips pout. Hardly the picture of the imposing femme fatale she usually is. Below, cars honk and someone screams, but the sounds are faint and distant and they do not quite reach him.

"I don't know," she finally mumbles and buries her head back in his shoulder. He doesn't put his arms around her like he knows she wants him to. His hands, he stares at his hands instead and they are calloused and scarred. His hands, yet at the moment they don't feel like his. He doesn't like to think of what they've done.

She embraces him, desperately trying to get him to speak. "I'm sorry, I couldn't do anything about it. It's just chance. Bad luck. If it hadn't been you it would have been anyone. Even I can't work against that."

"And," she continues as her voice lowers to a purr, "I like the angst. I love what I've turned you into. I don't think I've ever had anyone as fascinating as walk down my streets before, Bruce. Brucie. Batman. I'm sorry for saying this but killing your parents was one of the best things I've ever done."

He's been expecting that, but he can't help but flinch at the words. "This is all just a game to you, isn't it?"

"Not exactly a game, but I have to admit, it's fascinating to watch."

"Whatever I do, you won't change, will you?"

She takes his hand in her cold ones and traces his lifelines with a finger. "I might. One day. But it's hard." Her smile is mischievous, spiteful and tender. "You'll help me, won't you?"

And her tears are cold, cold like her hands.

"Forgive me, will you?"

"I – I don't know. Forgive, maybe. Forget. Never. I can't."

"I understand. And please don't go yet. We still have time."

"But I have to leave soon. You must understand."

"Yes. Yes, I do." She turns away. "I guess it is my fault after all…"

"You could just –"

"No! No. Never. It's just too much fun."

"You'll be the death of me one day."

"Nonononono. Never your death, Bruce, Brucie, Batman. I'll never go _that_ far."

"But far enough. You almost killed me today."

"Don't worry. You'll pull through this. I know you will. You always do. I've made sure of it. Trust me."

"Do I have any other choice?"

"You never give up on me, do you?" she sobs.

"No," he whispers into her hair, which smells of flowers and refuse. "Never."

"I love you, Bruce. Brucie. _Batman_. No – no matter what I've done, what I'll do to you, I'll _always_ love you."

"I know."

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I have this picture in my head of Bruce and Lady Gotham sitting side by on a ledge on the roof WayneEnterprises watching life go on down in the streets. With the wind blowing through their hair. It might be snowing. It'll be all in shades of grey and white and brown and black. Forgive my ego, but it might make a great comic book cover. Especially if Dustin Nguyen were to pencil it. XD

To avoid any confusion: Bruce is in a coma or just temporarily knocked out or something. While he's out he has a chat with his city.


	51. Chocolate Chips

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman.

To those who liked my previous chapter, please read the latest chapter of bovineorbitor1's **Bridges of Moonshine**, 'JUST US'.

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**Chocolate Chips**

"Milk and cookies at this time of the night, sir?"

The shadows scamper away from the light to hide behind Bruce, in the folds of his dressing gown and the bags under his eyes and in the milk carton.

Alfred frowns at his ward's lacking etiquette and hygiene and takes out two glasses before bullying the younger man into getting up from the cold tile floor to sit at the table like a decent human being.

Bruce munches and drowns his cookies in milk. Alfred nibbles in between sips. The shadows stare hungrily at the night from where they are speckled in the cookie ridges, under the chocolate chips. Under the table legs they stretch out to join the ones creeping up from the cave. The ones perched on Bruce tug at his hair to no avail.

The topic drifts from last night's narrow escape ("Bats don't have nine lives, sir.") to friends ("Gordon's under a lot of pressure to take me down.") to Lucius' latest toy ("If you think I'll be resting easier, sir, you're wrong.") to the latest ditz Bruce is dating ("Alfred, she's a dyed blonde, I swear.").

Conversation trickles into a silence which they wrap around themselves, at ease and content with the company they give each other. The shadows become emboldened enough to creep out and settle under their chairs and crawl up their legs.

Bruce begins to nod off and shadows anxiously crawl over his face from under his hair, trying to remind of his obligation to the city, then glare at Alfred who looks out of the window, remembering old friends and happier, simpler days. Yet tonight, with his ward safe at home, is as good as it gets and he is grateful for that.

The clock chimes and Bruce blinks blearily as Alfred rises and helps him to his feet.

"I do think it is high time you went to bed, Master Bruce."

They navigate their way through the half-dark. The moon shines through the tall windows and the shadows hurriedly skip away, alighting on their master, and trailing behind at his heels, asking him why he isn't joining them tonight.

"You haven't tucked me in since I was eleven," Bruce mumbles as Alfred draws the blankets over him and the shadows slink back under the furniture and behind the picture frames sulking, disappointed.

"Hmm, yes, those were the days, weren't they, Master Bruce? Shall I look under the bed for bogeymen while I'm at it? Or how about the monster in the wardrobe?"

"Father beat up the monster with a poker." Bruce mumbles, smiling faintly. "And Rachel and I smoked out the bogeyman."

"I remember the bed ended up on fire."

"Mmm-hmm." Bruce sighs and rolls over onto his side and the weariness, pain and pressure of several days settle into the bed along with him. The shadows hesitate, then join in. _Fine_, they seem to say, as they spoon up along the curve of his back, _just this night_.

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Reviewers get cookies.

Have a nice day!


	52. Where The Heart Is

I'm back. Sorry for not updating previously, I'm having major exams at the moment so it's all study, study, study, freak out, pull hair, gnaw nails, study. I had some downtime today to write this. Yay!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bats.

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**Where the Heart Is**

"Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." – Matthew 6:21

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You look put of the window and below there is grey concrete, cold and hard. There is only Alfred by your side.

_Your parents will be there, waiting._

It is raining outside.

_There will your father, tall and grave as always, but with his eyes shining with the prospect of the return of his son. His embrace will tell you everything he doesn't say. You have almost forgotten his warmth, and that kindness that he radiates. His hand, strong and firm, pulling you out of the darkness of the well. (Somewhere inside, you will feel a little smugness that you are now taller than him.) Then he will turn away and there will be "something in my eye". And you will see the pride in them, and tears._

The first thing you will do is to visit their graves. It's been too long since you've last seen them.

_Your mother, she will step forward and her hugs will be warm and strong and safe. And her smell, she smells of perfume and of powder and of _mother_._ _It will make you feel like you're eight again and it's not a bad feeling, not really. She will say, "Bruce, welcome back," and her hair, now fairer, almost white, will tickle your chin. Her hands are warm and wrinkled as they press against your cheeks in her slight disbelief that her little boy is now all grown up. She will be crying._

Rachel won't be there. She doesn't know you're coming back. She doesn't even know you're still alive.

_And she will be there and her face will be radiant, shining like the rising sun. She will be as you remember, beautiful and strong and as madly in love with you as you are with her. Her smile will make your heart melt. And then her arms will be around you and her lips will press against your own and you will be home._

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Thanks for reading. Have a nice day!


	53. Metamorphosis

Found this lurking in my PC. Inspired slightly by Franz Kafka's "Metamorphosis". You may recognize some lines to be from there.

Timeline: Anytime after Batman Begins.

**Disclaimer: **Me no own Batman and any of the "Metamorphosis" lines.

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**Metamorphosis**

When Bruce Wayne woke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a puddle of black goo. He was lying spread out all across the bed, pooling among the sheets. He wasn't quite sure if he was lying on his back or front but he was aware that parts of him –it felt like his left hand, but he found that he was unable to turn and see– were slowly dripping onto the floor.

"What has happened to me?" he thought. It wasn't a dream, he was sure of it. After all this was his room, exactly the way it was supposed to be, large, spacious, and mostly empty. Everything was in place, with the exception of his work kit which he remembered leaving on the dressing table. Alfred must have put it away sometime during the night or early morning.

Bruce's eyes then focused on window and the gloomy weather beyond it – he could hear the raindrops hit the glass with little _tap_s– and felt thoroughly miserable. "Go back to sleep, maybe I'll be back to normal when I wake up" he thought, momentarily closing his eyes (He wasn't quite sure if he had eyes, in this gooey melty state he was in, but he knew that if he willed the part of his body that felt like his eyes to move, it would go dark. He wondered if it was possible to get to a mirror so that he could have a good look at his reflection.)

But he soon found that it was impossible because the_ taptap_ of the raindrops were annoying him and the feel of what felt like his left arm dripping onto the carpet –and possibly staining it– was unnerving.

He decided that if he could get down into the Batcave, he could figure out what was wrong with him and possibly fix it. And maybe Alfred could help him. But he wasn't quite sure how to get out of bed.

He knew that whatever he had been turned into, he had quite a mass. This was because the mattress sank a little underneath him, which made it hard for him to flow in any direction. He did realize that his consistency was somewhat semi-solid, because he was quite sure that no part of him had been absorbed by the sheets or the mattress.

Bruce spent a moment wondering how he would get all parts of him out of bed. His entire goo-body felt very… detachable, as though bits and pieces of him could flow away any moment. The steady _dripdrip_ of his left arm worried him. He wondered vaguely if he could attach? reabsorb? it back to the rest of his body.

With some concentration, he found that he could will his body into movement, though it was only the part that felt like his head. But he found to his relief that wherever his 'head' moved, the rest of his body followed, though he had to move slowly to make sure it could catch up. He didn't want to leave bits of himself all over the house.

He managed to flop himself on to the bedside table, and watched as the rest of him slowly slithered after. The alarm clock beside him read ten twenty seven. As if stimulated by the glowing green numbers, his entire body gave a shudder. He froze, worried that he was about to fall apart. Three seconds passed and another tremor shook him. Another three seconds passed before he realized that it was his stomach (or whatever it had turned into) growling.

Even more aware of the pressing need to get downstairs, he slopped down onto the carpet and waited for a moment to reconnect himself to his arm. He found, much to his relief, that it did reattach itself, though now it felt like it was growing out of chest, wherever his chest was. No matter. Once he had eaten something he would be able to think better and then he could figure a way out of this mess he was in.

He oozed across the carpet, constantly looking back to see if he had left any parts of him behind. He was also worried that he might leave stains in the off-white carpet, which had just been recently shampooed.

To his annoyance, Bruce found that the state in which he was in had affected his eyesight. It was constantly veiled with a grey and either he only had one eye or they had both fused together. A throbbing headache was also beginning to make itself noticeable by threatening to detach his goo-head-part from his goo-body.

As he trickled down the stairs, he wondered if this was how Clayface felt. And what was for breakfast. And if Alfred had any aspirins and if it was possible for him to take them in this strange state that he was in.

It was some relief to feel that his left hand was slowly making its way back to its usual spot by his shoulder. It was slowly beginning to hurt just as much as his head though, and he vaguely recalled it getting pinned under something heavy the night before.

Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, he paused a moment to catch his breath, and to allow the rest of him to catch up. He felt slightly nauseas. He shuddered with hunger again but found that his appetite had disappeared.

He could hear Alfred whistling in the kitchen. Hardening his resolve, he slowly slithered towards the direction of the sound.

***

"Uuhhh… Aaaalfrrrreeeed..."

The butler turned around, surprised that his employer was up so 'early'. Bruce was usually only out of bed at around noon.

"Good morni– _Good Lord_."

Alfred almost dropped the teapot. The sight of Bruce Wayne slumping buck naked, unshaved, unwashed and generally unkempt against the kitchen door would be enough to give anyone a… pause.

"Whaaaddd…?"

"Erm, just a moment, sir." A bathrobe was certainly in order right now. The cleaning lady was due to arrive any time soon, and it certainly wouldn't do to have Master Bruce in such an embarrassing situation. Some strong coffee and some ointment for that nasty bruise on Bruce's shoulder were high on the butler's list of priorities too.

It took a while for Alfred to get his ward to put on the dressing gown; Master Bruce had seemingly fallen asleep (or collapsed) on the floor and making him get up and stuff his arms down the sleeves of the robe proved much more challenging than he had expected it too be.

Finally when Bruce was mostly decent and sitting at the table, Alfred busied himself with brewing some coffee and taking care of the bruised arm. However, what was supposed to be a simple act was once again complicated by Master Bruce's tendency to slump sideways and almost fall out off his seat, and by his attempts to get to the "Cofffeeeee…" each time he wasn't almost sliding of the chair.

Alfred was seriously considering tying his employer to the chair when the man suddenly sighed and slumped facedown onto the table. Worried for a moment, the manservant checked for a pulse. The one he found was steady and strong, so he finished administering aid to the arm with some relief.

The coffee did seem to revive Master Bruce a bit, though it took a while for Alfred to understand that the moans and groans his ward was making actually meant "Aaassssspreeeen" and "Whaadderrr…".

A little while later Bruce was starring at the droplets of water left in the glass as though seriously contemplating drowning himself in them.

"Alllfffreeed," he moaned, slumping forward again and almost knocking the glass off the table. "I f-f-fffeel like shit."

Alfred looked at his employer who, in his black silk dressing gown, looked like a pile of black goo oozing across the table.

"With all due respect sir, you d–"

"I w-wonderrrr… how Clayfff… how Clayface keepsss himssself togedderrr…"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Coffffeeeee…"

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Thanks for reading.

Have a nice day!


	54. Rapture

Hi, I'm back. Sorry for not writing for so long. Life got in the way.

**Disclaimer:** Bats and Alf aren't mine.

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**Rapture**

Bruce walks in grinning, a sight to behold and Alfred finds himself taking that moment, folding it carefully and tucking it away safely, deep in his heart.

"Another new toy from Lucius, Master Bruce?"

"Not a toy, Alfred," Bruce says, "a-a…" His grin fades into a frown as he tries to find the right words to describe the… whateveritis. So he simply gestures for Alfred to follow him and moves deeper into the cave.

Bruce turns on the lights and Alfred finds himself momentarily blinded by the harsh white lights. He blinks and – it's a tank. It's not a car, it's a bloody _tank_.

And Bruce is totally besotted in it. His hands don't stop moving, roaming across the sleek black expanse, petting it, trailing his fingers across sharp black angles. His smile is that of a five-year-old's on Christmas morning.

Alfred can foresee many hours, maybe even days spent in the cave with thing. And if he'd been younger he believes that he would have loved it too, loved the sharp angles, the glossy blackness, the horsepower Bruce is reciting in smitten reverence, the sleekness, the exciting promise of danger and adrenaline.

Bruce looks up smiling and again Alfred takes that rare, precious thing and locks it in his heart for safekeeping. "She's beautiful, Alfred, isn't she?"

And Alfred knows he is lost, totally, utterly lost.

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In real life, guys and their weird love of hunks of metal, engine and wheels annoys me. In fictionland, they're adorable. XD But you have to admit, the Batmobile is one damn sexy car. 3

Writing feels a little weird, I'm so out of practice. Hopefully, I'll start updating more frequently soon. Beware fuzzy Christmas fics lurking around corners!!!


	55. The Gift of Giving

I have had Christmas fics lurking in my head since September, but when it comes to writing them down and fleshing them out... gah.

And on top of that I have a cold. Bah! Humbug!

Don't worry it's not that bad. Sorry that this took longer than expected, I've just been very, very busy lately.

Anyway, without further ado... the first Christmas fic ever written by me. I hope it's warm and fuzzy enough. XD

**Disclaimer:** For Christmas, I want Bruce Wayne, the Batmobile (Nolanverse model), Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, the Batwing, a cave under my house, Bruce Wayne, genius level intellect, the Batsuit, Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne's money, JLA membership, Bruce Wayne, um...

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**The Gift of Giving**

"Plans for Christmas?"

After half a minute of Batman's blank stare he throws his hands up in exasperation. "Forget I asked."

"Here's the information about your John Doe. Real name's Terrence Smith. Worked at Denny's Diner. Lived alone. No relatives in Gotham, not many friends, no known enemies." He tosses the file onto the stack on the table.

Jim picks it up and thumbs through the papers. Just another random murder. "God, sometimes I hate Christmas. You'd think all that 'peace' and 'goodwill to all man' would be some worth but then all you get is this." He gestures angrily at the files and papers on his desk. "Double homicide, arson, God knows how many muggings, suicides, so much for the jolly holiday season."

Batman doesn't say anything but Jim can sense his silent agreement.

"Coffee? It's terrible, but still better than that crap they have in the MCU."

"No thanks. Plans for Christmas?"

The question seems strange, coming from Batman's mouth. It's far too casual for him.

"Barbara and the kids are going to Chicago for Christmas. They're leaving tomorrow. Me, well I'm just stayi–"

"Batman?"

_Babs? What the hell is she doing here?_ "Hey, Barbara, baby, why are–"

"I have a present for Batman."

_A present?_ The Dark Knight looks as bemused as Jim feels. Which is a first. He doesn't think he's ever seen the man at loss before.

Barbara is shy of course. Unlike her younger brother, she is less expressive of her admiration for Gotham's protector, even if she is just as much, maybe even more so, a fan. But it is Batman's reaction that seizes Jim's attention. He watches Barbara reach into her pack as though she's about to take out a bomb. He clearly tenses and for a moment, Jim is worried.

But Barbara isn't. She seems to have overcome her shyness because now she walks right up to the cloaked figure that towers above her and motions for him to bend down.

Batman seems to have frozen and Jim is about to tell his daughter to just give the poor man the present and leave him alone when he slowly un-freezes and crouches so that he and the girl are at eye level. And Gordon isn't sure if it's right to laugh as he watches his kid wrap a knitted scarf around the Batman's armoured neck, so he coughs and coughs and almost chokes.

Meanwhile Barbara has leaned forward and whispered something into Batman's ear and _Good Lord, is he smiling?_ A hand, the same gauntleted hand that had smashed the Joker's face into a wall and had broken so many others, reaches out and slowly, gently, brushes away a stray curl of red out of her face and tucks it behind her ear. The expression on the younger man's face, though mostly hidden by the cowl, makes Jim want to pat him on the back. And offer him coffee. Or something stronger.

"Thank you." Jim barely captures the whisper and marvels how the lack of growl immediately transforms this dark legend into someone more real, more human.

Maybe Batman is aware of how vulnerable he seems right now because he straightens up and in that inexplicable ninja way of his moves from the centre of the office to the window before Jim can so much as blink.

"Merry Christmas," he says, and his voice has returned to its customary growl. But instead of disappearing into thin air as he usually does, this time he has the decency to make his leaving less of a surprise and uses the fire escape. Jim marvels how he manages to remain soundless with those heavy boots of his.

Barbara joins him at the window and they watch the last bit of cape and sky blue scarf whip around the corner and disappear from sight. Than they watch the snow fall for a while.

"So _that_ was who the scarf was for. Why didn't you say so?"

Barbara shrugs, and leans against him. "I wasn't sure you'd approve. And mum wouldn't have helped me then, I think. Do you think he likes blue?"

"I'm sure he likes it, no matter what colour you may have made it."

"He's very sad."

Jim puts his arm around her, hugs her close. His dear Barbara, Babs, Babsy. So young, yet so old. So fearless. "Yeah. I love you, Babs, you know that."

"Yeah, I know that. Love you too, Dad."

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Christopher Nolan's a genius, but I wasn't very happy to see Babs take a backseat while her annoying younger brother got all the attention. Gordon had a son in the comics but... he doesn't seem to exist at all. C'mon Mr Nolan. The Batman movies have so little strong female characters and they all die in the end or disappear or something. Give Babs a wee bit bigger role. She's going to be Batgirl, for heaven's sake!

I love the idea of Bruce wearing the batsuit... and a scarf with it. It's so cute! Especially if it's brightly coloured and really long so that it trails behind him, like his cape...

***

Now for some Christmas Carols! All together now:

_Jingle bells, Batman smells,  
Robin laid an egg,  
The Batmobile, lost a wheel,  
And Joker got a-waaayyyy! _

Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year!


	56. PRESENTS!

More Christmas love, yes?

Merry Christmas everyone! Ho, Ho, Ho!

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**PRESENTS!**

Tom was sitting in the snow with Bruce. Both were grinning, throwing snowballs at her, and for some inexplicable reason, dressed only in swimming trunks. She was about to get up from her comfortable seat and tell them to put on some proper clothes when the floor bounced up around her.

"MOM! DAD!" Bruce bellowed, jumping up and down on his parents' bed. "PRESENTS!"

"Lord," mumbled Thomas, rolling over to look at the time. "Bruce it's only seven. Go back to bed."

"But presents," Bruce whined. "Can I open them now?" He opened his eyes as wide as he could and smiled his sweetest smile. "_Please_?"

Martha groaned. "Oh, all right, Bruce. Go. Just– "

"Yay! Let's go!"

Thomas buried his head under his pillow so she could barely hear his "…five more minutes."

"Just go, Brucie," she told her excited son. "Your father and I will come down soon."

"Okay, Mom," he said brightly. "Merry Christmas."

"Mm-hmm," she murmured, as she slowly returned to her swimming-trunks-wearing dream-Tom and dream-Bruce. Half asleep, she winced in sympathy as down the corridor, Bruce yelled, "ALFRED! WAKE UP! PRESENTS!"

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**A/N** Tom is Martha's pet name for Thomas.

Crashing through the roof,  
in a one-horse open tree,  
busting out I go,  
laughing all the wheeee!


	57. Christmas Morning

Because it's Christmas - another ficlet! Angsty this time! Yay!

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

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**Christmas Morning**

"Master Bruce?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"Will you be coming down for breakfast?"

"Yes. Just give me a minute."

Alfred at the door, Bruce cross-legged on the floor; both watched the clockwork train make its rounds around Bruce. Each time it chugged in front of him, the younger man reached out and brushed it with his fingers until it moved behind his back and out of sight.

"I haven't been in here for such a long time."

"I know, sir. You had me lock it up after…"

"I didn't want to remember. I didn't want to be reminded that that was the last Christmas I ever had with them."

"They have never truly left you."

"I know."

They watched the train run until it wound down. Sighing, Bruce rose.

"Breakfast, Alfred?" he asked as he put an arm around the shoulders of his oldest friend.

"Of course. Merry Christmas, sir."

"Merry Christmas, Alfred."

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**a/n **There is a "Legends of the Dark Knight" one-shot comic in which on Christmas day, Bruce is robbed. He spends the night chasing down the robbers to get back his stuff. Turns out it was a clockwork train that he got from his parents the Christmas before they were murdered. The panel of Bruce sitting in his old playroom with his old toys is heartrending. No matter how strong and tough he is on the outside, he's still a scared, sad, lonely little boy inside. Sniffle. *hugs Bruce*

Next update will only be next year. Sorry!

Have a happy holiday! Take care! Thank you for reading! HUGS!!!

**a/n** Since I have started incorporating elements from comics and other Batman sources, I will now be moving this to the crossover Batman Begins/The Dark Knight/Batman section. Thanks!


	58. New Year's Resolutions

I just sent off my college applications and need to get rid of some anxiety. Whew! (faints with relief) Wish me luck, please!

Happy New Year! Happy Holidays!

**A/N **Review replies for this and previous chapters will come after I come back from Singapore this coming weekend.

New Year's fic, yes? **Warning:** _CRACK_

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, I don't happen to own a certain hot, sexy, neurotic, obsessed millionaire with a bat fetish. It is however, part of my New Year's resolutions, to get my hands on him and to keep them there. XD

Speaking of resolutions...

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**New Year's Resolutions**

*~*~*~*

Bruce's Resolutions

1. Fight crime

2. Strike fear into the hearts of superstitious and cowardly criminals

3. Strike fear into the hearts of less superstitious and cowardly criminals

4. Fight crime

5. Get a new Batsuit

6. Avoid upsetting Alfred by being stubborn/angsting/not eating/being a dick/being a masochist/etc

7. Get a new Batmobile (rocket-launcher proof)

8. ...

9. Get a li--

*~*~*~*

Alfred's Resolutions

1. Continue aiding and abetting Master Bruce in his crusade

2. Continue to care for Master Bruce's wellbeing

3. Make sure Master Bruce takes proper care of himself

4. Do not allow Master Bruce to make pathetic excuses to miss meals and angst

5. Stock up sedatives in case Master Bruce requires forceful persuasion to rest

6. Teach Master Bruce how to cook

7. Refurbish the kitchen and get a fireproof, stainless kitchen counter

8. Always lock away all kitchen utensils when Master Bruce is in the kitchen if Master Bruce refuses to/cannot learn how to cook

9. Set Master Bruce up with a nice girl who isn't evil/a criminal/a criminal's daughter/will be killed/will go insane

10. Ban Master Bruce from entering the kitchen ever again

11. Set Master Bruce up with a nice girl who isn't evil/a criminal/a criminal's daughter/will be killed/will go insane who can cook so that Master Bruce doesn't have to and will thus not set the kitchen on fire again

*~*~*~*

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Hmmm... do you know that Batman looks damn hot giving CPR?

Ahem.

It's 7.00 am. I've been up all night. Wheeeee!!!!

**HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

Oh, and Brucie's coming back from limbo next year! Yay!  
I have a new poll up. If you have the time, please vote. Thanks!


	59. Little Boys

**Disclaimer: **Bruce Wayne has been seen lurking in the deep, dark jungles of DC Comics! Join the Bruce Hunting Party! Ladies (and gentlemen), this is your chance to capture the ultimate prize: Bruce Wayne! Admission price: USD5000. (Does not include accommodation. Includes one tranquillizer gun with five darts. Insurance not included.) Sign up now! Only 5 spaces available in our hunting party! For more information call 1-300-BATHUNT

**Note: **Takes place before the Waynes' death. Bruce is six/seven years old.

**Warning:** Little boys swearing like sailors.

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**Little Boys**

"Fuck," said Bruce. "Fuck." He savoured the taste of the profanity, winced a little at its coarseness and revelled at the thrill of saying the forbidden 'eff-word'. "FUCK!"  
"Shut up, Bruce! Are you insane? Do you want someone to hear?"  
"What does it mean?"  
"I don't know." His best friend smirked and he grinned back in return. "But it's _bad_."  
"Why?"  
"How the fuck should I know?"  
"Fuck you, Tommy."  
"Fuck you, Bruce."  
Bruce laughed. They'd done something forbidden and broken the Rules. And it felt good.

**~What are little boys made of?~**

"Jump!"  
"I c-can't."  
"C'mon, Bruce. Jump. Or you're a chicken."  
"Am not!"  
"Is too!"  
"Am not!"  
"Then jump!" The redhead stuck his tongue out at his friend. "Chicken!"  
Bruce swallowed hard and looked down. He'd taken up Tommy's dare to jump from the tree at the end of the manor's garden but the branch hadn't looked so high up from the bottom. Now the ground looked miles away.  
"I'm not going to."  
"Chicken! Chicken!" Tommy made clucking sounds and flapped his arms. "Bruce is a chicken, Bruce is a chicken!"  
Maybe he'd break his leg. Or his arm. It was so high up, maybe he'd die. Bruce closed his eyes. And jumped.  
The rush of wind–  
Tommy's taunting in his ears–  
_Thud!  
No pain. He was on the ground. He was still alive.  
"See, it wasn't so hard, was it?"_

**~Snips and~**

"Hello?"  
"Um…"  
*click*  
_::_ _Why didn't you say something, Tommy?  
:: What should I say, Smarty-Pants? You do it next time!_

"Hello, Melanie Grange here, who–"  
"We are the Knights who say… Ni."  
"Huh?"  
_:: What are you doing, Bruce?  
__:: Shhh! _"Ni!"  
"Who are you?"  
"We want… a ssshhhubbery!"  
"Who are you? I'm calling my mum–" _:: Mom!  
*click*  
__:: Monty Python? That was so dumb.  
:: Got a better idea?_

"Hi, this is Jeff–"  
"We are the–" _:: Hey!  
__:: Gimme that!_ "Whoever approaches the bridge of death, must answer me these questions three."  
"Huh?"  
"And the other side he see."  
"Who are you?"  
"What is your name?"  
"Uh, Jeff. Who are you?"  
"What is your quest?"  
"Huh, what? Is this a–"  
*click*  
_:: Why did you do that, Tommy?  
:: Get real, Bruce. Were you going to ask them to get a shrubbery all the time?_

_:: Who are you calling?  
:: Marcus. Hey – Tommy, you said it was my turn this time!  
:: Shut up, Bruce.  
"Hello, who's this?"  
"Fuck off, Marcus."  
"What? Who are you?"  
"You are a fucking–" __:: Hey! Give that back!  
:: No! You– Ow!  
"Fuck off, Marcus, you dumb pig! I hate you! I hope you– __:: Oi!  
*click*  
__:: What was that for?  
:: He stole my math book!  
:: Your math book was in your locker.  
:: Whatever, I don't like him._

"Hello–"  
"Tanya and Johnny, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N–"  
"Are you–"  
*click*  
_:: Damn, that was Tanya's sister.  
:: Tanya has a sister?_

**~snails,~**

Just before he reached the smooth globe of wood at the end, Bruce jumped of the banister.  
"Ta-dah!"  
"That's cheating!" Tommy Elliot yelled from the top of the stairs. "You were sitting on it!"  
"Yeah?" Bruce shouted back, his eyes narrowing in challenge. "Why don't you try it standing up, Smarty-Pants."  
His friend smirked. "Okay. Watch and learn, Bruce."  
He climbed onto the banister, socked toes curling around the curved, polished wood. Arms outstretched, he rose to his full height and wobbled. And wobbled some more until his arms were pin wheeling to keep his balance and Bruce was racing up the stairs to grab him before he fell. Tommy jumped back onto the carpeted floor just as his friend leaped up the last two stairs.  
Bruce watched his friend catch his breath with a rather smug look on his face. "Watch and learn what, Tommy?"  
"Shut up, Bruce."  
"Race you? But no standing."  
"All right." He sat on the banister and pushed off.  
"Hey, I didn't say go! Tommy, that's cheating!"

**~and puppy-dog's tails,~**

"Really, Master Bruce, Master Elliot, was there a need for such rowdiness?"  
Bruce didn't wince even as Alfred applied iodine to his cut lip. "Tommy broke my Grey Ghost action figure."  
"It was an accident!" Tommy protested from across the table as he held an icepack to a rather large bump on his head.  
"He broke its arm off."  
"I didn't do it on purpose, okay!"  
"He stepped on it."  
"I didn't know it was there. I didn't see it. I'm sorry!"  
Bruce continued to ignore him, speaking as though Tommy was not in the room. Despite his mussed hair, cut lip, and his suit in disarray, the haughty look on his face was clear to all in the room. "Tell him I hate him and that I'll never speak to him again." He slid off the chair. "Thank you, Alfred."  
"Hey, don't ignore me!" Tommy yelled as his friend walked out of the kitchen, nose in the air. "Hey, Bruce!" He jumped out of his chair and grabbed the sleeve of Bruce's shirt. "I'm, sor–"  
Bruce was laughing. "Gotcha!"  
Tommy's eyes narrowed in suspicion for a moment, then he joined his friend in laughter. "So you're not mad at me?"  
"I am, but I won't be if you help me fix it."  
They thundered up the stairs like a heard of elephants. Ms. Dawes shrieked as they almost ran her over. Alfred shook his head.

**~That's what little boys are made of.~**

"Bruce?"  
"Mmhh?"  
"Ever wonder what it's like to be an orphan?"  
Bruce rolled over in his bed and looked at his friend, who was lying in a camp bed next to his. "No. Well… maybe, sometimes."  
"Wouldn't it be great?" Tommy had his arms crossed behind his head, and was starring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling of Bruce's room.  
"Why?"  
"Why?" The redhead turned over to give Bruce and incredulous look. "No rules. No need to go to school. Nobody to tell us what to do. We could go to bed anytime we wanted, we could do whatever we wanted. Pizza every day!"  
Bruce rolled his eyes. "Right."  
"I'd be rich."  
"You're already rich."  
"I'm not. It's not my money. Yet."  
"Even if my parents were dead, Alfred would still be here."  
"He's a servant. He can't tell you what to do."  
"He just sent us to bed, Tommy." Bruce elbowed up and glared. "And he's a friend."  
Tommy had rolled over to face the wall and didn't see Bruce's glower. "Whatever. We could have all kinds of cool adventures. No coming back for dinner, no sleeping before midnight."  
"That just happens in books and comics, Tommy."  
"We could be heroes."  
"Sure." Bruce lay back down and pulled his blanket over his shoulders.  
"We could save the world."  
"Go to sleep, Tommy."

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**A/N: **Tommy (Thomas Elliot) is Bruce's childhood friend and was first introduced in _Batman: Hush_. If you happen to have the (mis)fortune of being Bruce's friend, you either a) die, b) go insane, c) go evil, d) well, bad stuff just happens to you. In Tommy's case, he was already slightly psychopathic as a child and so as an adult, he became the villain Hush.  
Things you need to know about Tommy: he had an abusive father, tried to kill his parents (succeeded with his dad, mom survived to torment him), is insanely jealous of Bruce because he's an orphan and has access to his fortune and can do whatever the hell he wants. In short, he's what Bruce would be if he were evil.  
Despite Tommy being evil and all that, I like the fact that Bruce had good friends when he was a kid. His life after his parents' deaths sucked bad enough already, the least that writers can do is give him a fairly enjoyable childhood. Sure, Tommy's betrayal will hurt more, but the goddamn Batman can take that.

Yak, yak, I do talk a lot, don't I? Hope this was all right.  
Questions? Ask away!

Ta-ta for now!


	60. Nights Like These

**Disclaimer: **Hmmm... while the response for the Hunt for Bruce Wayne was rather poor (only **HoistTheColours** signed up - love you, girl!) it was plenty fun. Shame you guys missed it. Capturing Bruce Wayne was harder with just the two of us but in the end, all that wrestling about in the mud trying to cuff him was worth it. And we didn't have to share him with three more people *evil grin*. Anyway, he's been released back into the wild and all those who missed their chance, don't worry! This weekend is the hunt for The Joker! Yes, Gotham's most notorious criminal has been sighted! This is your chance, ladies (and gentlemen)! Admission price: USD7000. (Does not include accommodation. Includes one tranquillizer gun with five darts, antidote for Joker venom. Insurance not included.) There are only three spaces available this time. Hurry!

**Nolanverse, can be between BB and TDK or after TDK.  
Words: **200

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**Nights Like These**

It's raining.

On nights like these he seems to vanish deeper into the darkness; the rain dripping, dripping down his face, his cape dripping down his shoulders with the rain, puddling on the ground, like ink. Jim is reminded of comic book villains from his childhood, pools of darkness, lurking in the shadows, only glowing eyes visible.

Jim hates nights like these, when the heavens open to piss upon Gotham and no matter how much it rains she never seems to get cleaner. It's just the whitewash that drains away into the sewers, the facades of loveliness that last a day or two before the rain exposes the rot beneath it. The rain falls, but the dirt remains.

He hates nights like these because no self respecting criminal would be out in this deluge, so it galls him that he has to wait, cold and wet, in the rain for the inky villain – no, _good guy_, to creep out of the shadows and growl at him and rub in his face how incompetent the GCPD is before leaving him hanging in mid-sentence.

Jim Gordon isn't sure if Batman can catch a cold, but right now, he really hopes he does.

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This being the 60th chapter, I suppose it should be more... longer? action-packed? but I'm too tired right now. Next one will be better.

Have a nice day!


	61. Valentine's Day

This is for Valentine's Day. But it's a bit of a different kind of love. =]

**Disclaimer: **The Joker hunting expedition went very, very well. No causalities, lots of fun, a great stay at **freakwriterCHM**'s Arkham Hotel... yeah, it was great. We're keeping a lookout for other characters but after what happened to Bruce and the Joker, they've gone into hiding. Damn.

**Timeline:** 4 days before Bruce is born.  
**Pairing:** Thomas and Martha Wayne  
**Words:** 1000

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**Valentine's Day**

I dream that I am flying, and the sky is the bluest blue with soft, puffy cotton-candy clouds. There are babies flying through the air, babies with silver wings that tumble through the clouds and coo and giggle and try to grab my dress and where is my Bruce? My Bruce, I have come here to find him and – "Bruce!" – there he is, hiding behind a fluffy pink mound, waving cheekily. "Bruce!" I fly–

"Martha!"

"Bruce–"

"Martha, are you all right? Is the baby coming? I'll call an ambulance, hold on a moment, love–

"Tom." I push myself up and it's Tom I'm looking at now, not my baby. "Tom." My stomach is wet. Has my water broken? But, no, I don't feel anything and the stain is orange and smells like oranges – orange juice from tray that Tom is holding. A tray with spilt juice and toast and a beautiful red rose which brushes Tom's cheek as he leans full of concern over me–

"I'm fine, Tom." Elbowing up, I brush his cheek and feel the scratchy stubble there, try to smooth his worried frown into a smile. "It was… just a dream." I lie back down, close my eyes and try to chase it, to find my Bruce but the babies have gone and the clouds have gone and the only blue I can see is the bluest blue of Tom's eyes. "Good morning."

"Good morning, love." He smiles now, and kisses me. He is still holding the tray. The rose in its tiny vase topples over and soaks the toast.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Martha," he says. Then he looks ruefully at the orange stain and the inedible breakfast. "I'm sorry about that, shall I–"

My finger over his lips quiets him. "Hush love, I'll clean it up. Shouldn't you be on your way to work?"

"So eager to be rid of me, darling?" he asks, raising one of his caterpillar brows.

"No, just wishing that the day would pass faster so that you'll be home soon."

"Me too." We kiss again, longer. Then we hear the grandfather clock in the study sound the hour and we break apart. "See you later, Martha. I love you."

"I love you too, Thomas. Happy Valentine's Day."

He moves down to kiss my belly. "Bye-bye, Clarisse. Papa will be home soon."

"Bruce."

"Clarisse."

"Bruce." I insist, forcefully, until he gives in with a small shrug.

"Bye-bye, Bruce-Clarisse," he says with a smirk and presses another warm kiss just above my belly button. "I love you."

His smile is apologetic, tender and beautiful as he walks out of the door.

***

I leave the bathroom to find that the maid has already changed the dirty bedsheets and taken away the tray. Alfred is downstairs in the kitchen, organizing the schedule for the staff, but he rises to draw me chair and get me a cup of green tea.

"How is the young Master doing?" he asks, as I slowly sip the hot drink. Alfred, unlike Thomas, trusts my intuition.

"Restless," I says, placing a hand over my stomach. "He wants out. It'll probably be in a couple of days." I love how everyone seems to be so eager to see Bruce. It makes my tiny family seem so much bigger.

Susan, our cook makes me oatmeal. We eat breakfast together, as is our tradition, and she tells me about her two little girls, and all the trouble they get into. I can't wait to hold Bruce and hug him and feel his tiny fingers curl in my hand. I can't wait to tuck him into bed and sing him lullabies and to play with him, and this feeling is so strong I can almost see him run through the kitchen door and throw himself into my arms.

***

I'm not quite sure what to do after breakfast. Usually I'm out meeting people, trying to organize charities and donations and to kick the lazy asses of Gotham's high society into gear but today there's nothing for me to do. Everyone else has other engagements. And Thomas is working, saving lives.

I wander absently down the hall and watch the portraits watch me as I pass by. They're all so sad and solemn or stern and solemn. Tom is a bit of both and I'm hoping that Bruce will bring some smiles and laughter to this place. We're all so jaded, so grown up and this house can be so bleak and silent sometimes, and sometimes the only laughter that rings out are the false chuckles and tittering giggles that follow gossip and false promises. I hate those laughs, those parties, those false smiles, those shallow, simpering idiots who call themselves our friends and Thomas hates them too and I think these faces do to, maybe that's why they look so disapproving and–

Calm, Martha. Calm down.

I imagine Bruce inside me, gently petting the walls of his temporary home, trying to calm me. He has fuzzy dark hair and the bluest blue eyes. He smiles and says, "Cheer up, mama."

I go to the study, sit down at the piano and play. I let the music fill my mind, my heart, fill me up from top to bottom with no room for anger and inside me, Bruce is singing along and playing catch with the notes.

***

The sun is setting when Tom comes back. I am sitting on the patio, watching the sun go down. I'm tired despite my inactivity and feel large and bloated like whale, beached with this ocean of light licking at my feet. Bruce kicks gently and I know he's tired of waiting too.

Tom sits down next to me. I lean into his warmth and he makes a little sneeze as my hair tickles his nose. _I love you_, I whisper quietly in my mind, knowing Tom and Bruce can hear me. _I love you_.

Alfred calls us in for dinner as the sun disappears behind the trees.

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The title is a little meh. I welcome suggestions.

Bruce's birthday is on the 19th of February. Mark your calenders. There will also be a surprise in store on the 18th, to mark the one year anniversary of Bats of a Leather.

Happy Valentine's Day! And to all who celebrate Chinese New Year, Happy New Year!


	62. The Late Night Show

Disclaimer: Alas, the brooding bat does not belong to me.  
**Warning: CRACK, self-insert, mentions of slash, cliché dialogue, over-the-top OOC-ness, insanity, fangirling, fangirls, CRACK**. I think that covers all the bases.  
Genre: Humour/Parody

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**The Late Night Show**

Xrai: Welcome to the Xrai's So-Very-Very-Late-It's-Early Show. Today, to commemorate the first anniversary of my fanfic "Bats of a Leather", we have a very special guest appearing. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present you… _(Drumroll)_ Brucie!

_(Batman enters. He is in full Batman regalia with a straightjacket. He is accompanied by handlers who forcefully sit him down on the chair opposite Xrai and shackle him to it.)_

Xrai: Um, sorry about the "security measures", Brucie. We can't risk you escaping and having the ratings of the show go down. Oh and by the way, I have invoked my powers as the writer of this immensely cracky fic so that you won't be able to escape from that straightjacket and that chair until I let you. So don't bother trying, you'll sprain something and we still have need for you after the show. Okay, Brucie? _(Pats him on the head.)_

Batman: _(Snarls and jerks his head away.) _I'd rather you call me "Batman" while I'm in uniform.

Xrai: So formal? But we're all fans here, we already know who you are, Brucie–

Batman: Batman.

Xrai: _(Grinning evilly.) _How about "B"? "Batsy"? Umm… "Bee-Bee"?

Batman: _(Glares)_ BAT. MAN.

Xrai: _(Leans back and holds up her hands.) _Okay, okay chill. So how are you feeling?

Batman: _(Looks sullen.)_…

Xrai: Come on, loosen up a little. You're always so tightly wound. Relax.

Batman: _(Continues to remain sullen and silent.)_

Xrai: Hey, you're not still pissed at me for hunting you and kidnapping you a few weeks back, are you? It was just a bit of fun.

Batman: _(Snarling.) _You kidnapped me, held me against my will, you and that other lunatic –

Xrai: Her name's HoistTheColours and we're not lunatics!

Batman: Lunatics, fangirls, you're all the same. How the hell did you escape from Arkham anyway?

Xrai: We had some help from HoistTheColours Puddin'.

Batman: _(Looks like he wants to bang his head against the wall.) _Oh God. You allied with the Joker? You fangirls are even crazier than I thought.

Xrai: Well, he's not exactly **the Joker**, just **a **Joker. Andwe'd prefer it if you called us "fans". Just "fans". The word "fangirls" implies a lack of rational thought, obsessive compulsiveness and an excess of hormones.

Batman: I'm pretty sure that kidnapping me would involve all three.

Xrai: Well… ah, it was for research purposes. _(Waggles eyebrows at him.)_

Batman: Hmmph.

Xrai: Anyway, there have been many interpretations of your masked persona. Which is your favourite?

Batman: None. They're all the same to me. In fact, the more interpretations of me that there are, the better. It keeps the criminals confused and fearful.

Xrai: Ah… So you don't even mind the rubber nipples and the homoerotism Schumacher gave you and Robin? How about the ice puns? Oh, and speaking of homoerotism, what is your opinion on the fact that in fanficdom, you have been romantically linked with almost every single male character in the DC Universe, from Superman to your own adopted sons to, ahem, the Joker?

Batman: _(Flatly.) _No comment.

Xrai: Come on, Brucie, I'm sure you have something to say about this. After all, these people are implying that you and your worst enemy are… ahem, _(leans forward, grinning) _**doing it**.

Batman: _(Jerks against his restraints and shouts.) _NO! (CENSORED)! COMMENT! _(Security guards run forward with tasers and tranquilizer guns but Xrai waves them back. They retreat slowly, guns and tasers still trained on Batman.)_

Xrai: _(Speaks lightly, but looks wary and shifts her chair back a little.) _Temper, temper. Really, Brucie, you're no fun at all.

Batman: _(Takes a deep breath and quietly counts to ten.)_ I'm Batman. I'm not supposed to be fun.

Xrai: Hmmm. So… what do you think of my portrayal of you?

Batman: _(Snorts.) _Pathetic.

Xrai: WHAT!?

Batman: It's as bad as fanfiction–

Xrai: _(Looks pissed.) _It **is** fanfiction, genius–

Batman: You always woobie-fy me–

Xrai: The readers love woobie!Batman. _(Starts gesticulating wildly.) _**I** love woobie!Batman–

Batman: **I** do **not**.

Xrai: Well, you're not a reader are you? And I'm the writer here–

Batman: _(Angrily.) _Batman is not a woobie! And you write Alfred and Jim better than you write me.

Xrai: Well, woobie-fying Jim or Alfie isn't as fun as woobie-fying you. Oh and speaking of woobies and fanfiction, would you like to announce our special anniversary surprise?

Batman: No.

Xrai: _(Pouts.)_ Fine. Okay dear readers. Since it has been exactly a year since I first posted this story, I thought it would be cool to give everyone who reviews this chapter the chance to request a ficlet from me. The word range is from zero to eight hundred words, of any genre as long as it remains rated T. No slash, smut or M rated violence because I'm not sure if I can write that yet. If romance, preferred pairings would be Bruce/Selina (or their costumed alter-egos), Bruce/Talia, possibly Bruce/Vesper (Fairchild). I'm also willing to do a Robin fic (especially if the Robin is Damian). Alfred, Jim, young!Bruce, young!Barbara, yes. The Joker, yes. My strengths are angst and humour. Am willing to do deathfics. Um… I think that's about it. Bruce, do you have anything to add? A pairing of your choice? A genre? Favourite villain you'd like to face? Um, Bruce? Hello, earth to– ARGGHH!

_(Gas and smoke fills the room. Above the shrieks of Xrai, the audience and the TV crew comes the sound of restraints clicking open and a straightjacket slithering to the ground. A chair falls over.)_

Xrai: Security! SECURITY! _(Coughs.)_ **SECURITY**! Where the hell are those idiots?

_(Batman emerges through the smoke and gas and towers over Xrai who backs away and trips over the fallen chair.) _

Xrai: How did you escape? I'm in charge of this fic, how can you take control like this? It's impossible!

Batman: _(Grins a grin that makes most criminals piss themselves.)_ I'm the goddamn Batman.

_(Batman shoots a grappling hook out through the glass window and disappears into rapidly fading night.)_

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**A/N: **Okay, sorry for wasting your time with this insane crack. However, I am serious about the fic request offer. You don't necessarily have to review, you can also PM me. The fics will be posted in Bats of a Leather. And a word of warning in advance: I might not be able to fulfil all these requests anytime soon. It will depend on easiness of the request, and my time. Real life will be taking over quite soon so some of you may have to wait for a few months for your request to be completed. **One** request per person. Please do not make multiple requests under anonymous names. Your requests can be specific or vague one word suggestions, I don't mind. You can specify the length, but max is 800 words. Any more questions, feel free to PM me any time.

BTW, tomorrow (or today, depending on your time zone) is Bruce's birthday. It's not entirely official, but current canon and fandom has set it on the 19th Feb… for now.

PS HoistTheColours, I hope you don't mind me mentioning you in this fic. XD

Thank to everyone who has stuck with me all this while, whether you've been reviewing or a lurker. Thank to everyone who has put this fic or me on their favourites. Thank you to the readers who randomly pop in now and then. I won't have made it to here without all of you. I love you guys. *hugs*


	63. Painted Black

**Title:** Painted Black  
**Continuity:** Nolan-verse, post TDK  
**Characters:** Batman/Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth  
**Rating: **PG-13  
Written for the **drabble_las** prompt on LiveJournal _"I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way."_

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Alfred delivers the morning paper to your bed.

**BAT TERRORIZES GOTHAM CITY**

You'd smile, maybe even laugh if it wouldn't rip the stitches on your chin.

It's not funny anymore later that night.

You're on top of him within seconds, but it's still too late. He barely puts up a fight and surrenders his gun willingly enough. You wish he would've struggled more so you could've broken his kneecaps.

Then you turn your attention to his victims.

The girl stares wide eyed up at you, her face spattered with drops of her mother's blood. "Please," she whimpers, "don't kill me."**  
**


	64. Gotham Grayscale

**Story Title**: Gotham Grayscale**  
****Rating**: PG  
**Note**: Written for the drabble LAS on LJ, for the prompt: bleak.

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It sleets, and the rain paints Gotham in grayscale.

You really should be paying attention to the meeting (or not), but you'd rather stare out of the window and watch the rain fall.

Patterns.

They roll down the glass, trickle into each other, pour down in tiny streams. There is no one solitary raindrop.

You're tired. You're not looking forward to this night of huddling in shadows, getting drenched to the bone, fighting dumb thugs. Police getting in your way in their eagerness to catch you. Even Gordon's help is limited.

Patterns.

But _you_, you are just one solitary raindrop.


End file.
